IDA   MAY; 


£ton»  of  Swings  Actual  atrtr  possible 


MARY   LANGDON. 


1  We  speak  that  .we  do  know,  and  testify  that  we  have  scan.' 


FIFTY-FOURTH      THOUSAND. 


•X"  c  ty  ~  0  o  r  Iv  : 

H.    DAYTON,    SO    HOWARD-STREET 

1860. 


Entr.ni)  accordhi,;  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

PHILLIPS,    SAMPSON,    &    Co., 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


Btereot;  fit  bj 
HOBAET  *  JIOBBISB 

ljpe 
BOSTON 


PREFACE. 


THIS  story,  which  embodies  ideas  and  impressions 
received  by  the  writer  during  a  residence  in  the  South, 
is  given  to  the  public,  in  the  belief  that  it  will  be  recog- 
nized and  accepted  as  a  true  picture  of  that  phase  of 
social  life  which  it  represents. 

In  the  various  combinations  of  society  existing  in  tt « 
slave  States,  there  may  be  brighter,  and  there  certainly 

|M( 

are  darker  scenes,  than  any  here  depicted ;  but  I  have 
preferred  to  take  the  medium  tones  most  commonly  met 
with,  and  have  earnestly  endeavored  to 

"  nothing  exaggerate, 
Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice." 

1  have  not  written  in  vain,  if  the  thoughts  suggested 
by  the  perusal  of  this  book  shall  arouse  in  any  heart  a 
more  intense  love  of  freedom,  or  bring  from  any  lip  a 
more  firm  protest  against  the  extension  of  that  system 
vrhich,  alike  for  master  and  servant,  poisons  the  springs 


2075139 


IV  PREFACE. 


of  life,  subverts  the  noblest  instincts  of  humanity,  and, 
even  in  the  most  favorable  circumstances,  entails  an 
amount  of  moral  and  physical  injury  to  which  no  lan- 
guage can  do  justice  M.  L. 


IDA    MAY. 


.    CHAPTER    I. 

"  A  child  is  always  a  charming  novelty,  although  Cain  was  the  only 

really  venerable  and  truly  original  baby." 

DR.  0.  W.  HOLMES. 

EVERYBODY  thought  that  Ida  May  was  a  wonderful  child, 
and  everybody  said  she  would  be  completely  spoiled;  and 
it  was  a  matter  ofifcongratulation  to  all  who  desired  her 
preservation  from  ultimate  destruction,  when  one  day  it  was 
announced  that  Mrs.  May  had  given  birth  to  a  son. 

Great,  indeed,  was  the  rejoicing;  not  only  among  the 
"  dear  five  hundred  friends,"  but  in  the  quiet  home  of  the 
Mays.  Every  face  wore  a  peculiarly  happy  and  relieved 
expression,  —  from  the  old  doctor,  who  met  the  three  years 
old  Ida  on  the  stairs  as  he  descended  from  the  sick-room 
and,  patting  her  dark  curls,  said,  "  So,  miss,  your  nose  ia 
out  of  joint,  now,"  to  the  little  nurse-maid  Bessy,  who 
1* 


IDA     MAT. 

made  an  idiotic  face  and  imitated  the  wailing  of  the  new 
infant,  by  way  of  illustrating  to  the  child  the  inestimable 
treasure  of  which  her  mother  had  become  possessed. 

But  when  Miss  Ida  was  ushered  into  the  darkened  room, 
and  saw  the  formidable  array  of  phials  and  caudle-cups  on 
the  mantel-piece,  and  the  stern  face  of  the  nurse,  who  hushed 
her  first  rapturous  greeting  of  her  little  brother  by  point- 
ing to  the  bed  where  her  mother  lay,  the  young  lady  began 
to  doubt  the  extreme  benefit  she  had  been  told  was  to  be 
derived  from  this  addition  to  the  family.  She  stood  a 
moment,  gazing  around,  with  her  large,  dark  eyes  wide 
open,  and  her  ros.y  lips  set  in  a  queer  expression. 

"  Come  here,  my  darling,"  said  her  mother's  feeble  voice. 
"  A'n't  you  very  glad  you  have  a  little  brother,  and  won't 
you  love  him  very  much  ?  " 

But  the  child  was  not  in  tho  mood  for  sentiment.  Climb- 
ing up  into  a  chair,  in  order  to  reach  her  mother,  she 

pointed  with  one  chubby  hand  to  the  fireplace,  where  tho 

^^ 
nurse  was  rocking  the  bab^  and  said :     • 

"  Mother,  did  God  send  that  baby  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  love,"  replied  Mrs.  May. 

"Well,  then,"  said  little  miss,  —  dropping  her  hand  and 
curling  her  lip  in  great  scorn,  —  "I  should  think  God  might 
know  better  than  to  send  him  now,  when  you  are  so  sick 
you  have  to  hiro  that  great  ugly  woman  to  take  care  of 
him." 

But  the  little  stranger,  about  whose  coming  the  child 
thus  irreverently  expressed  her  opinion,  was  not  destined 


IDA     M  >L  Y 

long  to  endure  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  humanity.  Not 
many  weeks  had  elapsed  before  the  immortal  flower  was 
transplanted  to  bloom  in  the  gardens  of  Paradise,  and  then 
this  bright,  beautiful  girl  was  watched  over  with  even  a 
tenderer  devotion,  and  clasped  more  closely  than  ever  to 
the  parent  hearts  which  death  had  so  cruelly  wounded. 

The  baby  died  and  was  buried ;  and,  as  Ida  sat  in  her 
father's  arms  that  evening,  vainly  trying  to  comprehend 
what  was  death,  that  had  thrown  such  an  unwonted  gloom 
over  the  household,  she  suddenly  broke  the  silence  by 
saying : 

"  Where  is  the  baby,  now  ?" 

"  The  baby  is  an  angel  in  heaven,"  replied  the  father, 
aadly. 

"  And  my  littles  chicken,  you  know,  father,  that  I  killed 
hugging  it,  the  other  day,  and  you  buried  for  me, — I  sup- 
pose by  this  time  that  is  an  angel  in  heaven,  too.  I  wish 
God  knew  it  was  mine,  and  then,  maybe,  he  'd  let  our  baby 
have  it  to  play  with." 

The  chicken  thus  referred  to  was  one  of  a  number  of  its 
race  that  had  been  the  victims  of  Ida's  fond  but  over-zealous 
care ;  for,  about  this  time,  and  during  the  summer  that 
followed,  she  gave  her  almost  undivided  attention  to  that 
branch  of  ornithology  that  concerns  the  habits  of  domestic 
fowls.  Her  great  delight  was  to  watch  the  chickens  in  the 
henery,  and  many  hours  each  day  were  spent  in  following 
them  about,  and  imitating  their  motions,  until  the  feathered 
bipeds  came  to  regard  her  as  one  of  themselves,  and  ceased 


IDA      MAY. 

to  feel  alarm  at  her  presence.  Sometimes  she  was  found  with 
her  rosy  mouth  covered  with  dust,  after  attempting  to  peck 
from  the  ground,  as  she  had  seen  her  favorites  do  ;  and  she 
came  near  having  her  eyes  picked  out,  by  an  indignant  hen. 
under  whose  wings  she  tried  to  introduce  herself,  along  with 
the  chickens  that  were  brooding  there.  Often  she  would 
climb  the  hen-roost,  and  there,  supporting  herself  in  some 
angle,  would  sit  patiently  for  a  long  time,  balancing  herself 
on  her  hands  and  feet;  and  the  only  drawback  to  her  pleasure 
in  this  position  was  the  melancholy  fact  that,  notwithstanding 
all  her  efforts,  she  could  not  put  her  head  under  her  wing. 

One  evening  she  was  missing  when  bed-time  came,  and, 
when  her  mother  went  to  the  door  to  seek  her,  a  childish 
voice,  that  seemed  to  come  from  the  clouds,  answered  her 
call.  Looking  up  into  a  tree  that  stood  near,  she  discovered 
Ida  safely  perched  among  the  branches. 

"  Mercy !  "  exclaimed  the  terrified  mother,  "  how  came  you 
up  there,  my  child  ?  " 

"I  a'n't  a  child  now,"  w,as  the  reply ;"  "I'm  a  hen,  and 
I  'm  gone  to  roost,  and  I  've  got  up  high,  so  the  cats  shan't 
catch  me." 

Fortunately  her  father  was  near,  and  his  firm  arm  soon 
withdrew  the  little  girl  from  her  perilous  position. 


One  afternoon  her  mother  was  telling  her  of  God's  caro 
over  us  all,  and  that  he  sent  his  angels  to  guard  us  from  evil 
and  incite  us  to  good. 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  7 

fl  Are  they  round  us  always ;  in  the  night,  too  ?  "  asked 
[da,  her  eyes  dilating  with  wonder. 

"  Yes,  they  are  always  with  us,"  replied  Mrs.  May.  "  They 
guard  us  while  we  sleep,  and  give  us  happy  dreams.  My 
darling,  you  need  never  feel  as  if  you  were  alone,  for  the 
Messed  angels  are  always  near  to  protect  you."  * 

Ida  was  not  at  all  timid  in  regard  to  physical  danger  ;  but 
the  idea  of  the  supernatural,  thus  suddenly  presented  to  her 
excited  imagination,  impressed  her  powerfully.  She  said 
nothing  more,  however,  and,  unconscious  of  her  feelings,  Mrs 
May  pursued  the  subject  some  moments  longer. 

That  evening,  after  she  had  been  undressed  and  left  alone 
in  her  little  bed,  her  parents  were  startled  by  hearing  her 
call  them  in  a  loud,  distressed  voice;  and,  going  to  her  room, 
found  her  sitting  up  in  the  moonlight,  her  face  agitated  with 
vexation  and  fear.  To  their  inquiries,  she  answered  with  a 
burst  of  tears,  which  could  no  longer  be  restrained, 

"  I  wish  the  old  angels  would  stay  in  heaven  where  they 
belong.  They  'd  better  bo  playing  on  their  harps  than  stand- 
ing here  watching  me." 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  Ida  to  attend  church.  Her  quick 
sensibilities  were  impressed  by  the  solemn  hush  of  the  place. 
The  softened  light,  the  pale  face  of  the  minister  in  the  sacred 
desk,  and  the  music  of  the  organ,  thrilled  her  with  a  mysteri- 
ous awe.  She  was  always  wide  awake  then,  and  her  child- 
ish soul  overflowed  with  ecstasy  ;  and,  as  she  was  allowed  to 
sleep  quietly  during  the  sermon,  she  was  inclined  to  consider 


IDA     MAT. 

the  Sabbath  worship,  upon  the  whole,  a  very  pleasant  insti« 
tution.  Great,  then,  was  her  disappointment  when,  one  day. 
she  was  detained  at  home  by  a  slight  illness.  She  begged  and 
cried  to  be  permitted  to  go,  and,  as  a  final  argument,  she 
s::id,  looking  up  into  her  mother's  face,  with  the  greatest 
"earnestness, 

"  Do  let  me  go,  mother.  If  you  will,  1  'H  indulge  a  hope, 
- 1  will,  mother,  —  and  be  a  little  mite  of  a  candidate." 

"  My  dear,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  cannot  allow  you  to  go  to 
church,  and  if  you  really  want  to  be  good,  you  won't  tease  me 
any  more."  The  child  turned  away  with  a  deep  sigh,  and 
stood  by  the  window,  listening  to  the  ringing  of  the  church- 
bells,  that  came  musically  over  the  fields  on  the  pleasant 
summer  air.  When  they  had  ceased,  she  turned  again  to  her 
mother. 

"  Mother,"  said  she,  —  a  curious  expression  of  triumph 
breaking  over  her  face,  and  sparkling  through  the  tears 
which  had  been  slowly  gathering  in  her  downcast  eyes,  —  "  I 
don't  care  if  I  can't  go  to  church  to-day.  One  of  these  days 
I  'm  going  to  heaven,  and  it  is  Sunday  there  always,  and  I 
will  go  to  church  whenever  I  've  a  mind  to." 


Think  not,  reader,  that,  in  giving  these  few  anecaotes  of 
her  childhood,  I  can  convey  to  you  any  proportion  of  the 
quaint  expressions  with  which  my  heroine  was  continually 
electrifying  this  admiring  household.  Even  if  circumstances 
had  not  made  her  so  peculiarly  dear,  it  would  have  been  im- 


IDA     SI  A  Y 

possible  to  withstand  the  winning  ways  and  childish  graces, 
the  sprightliness  and  intelligence  that  sparkled  in  her  dark 
eyes,  and  moved  her  restless  limbs,  and  filled  her  busy  brain 
with  the  oddest  ideas  and  the  most  amusing  fancies. 

Thus  brightly  and  calmly,  tinged  with  warm  roseate  hues, 
and  musical  with  song,  dawned  the  day  of  life  that  was  to  be 
so  changeful  ere  its  close.  Thus  tenderly,  in  a  down-lined 
nest,  was  the  birdling  brooded,  whose  wings  should  wander  so 
far  over  strange  lands,  and  beneath  such  darkening  skies 


CHAPTER    II. 

«  What,  2#  /  did  yon  say  all  ? 

What,  all  mj  pretty  chickens  and  their  dam 

In  one  fell  swoop  !  "  MACSETB 

"  World  !  world  !  0,  world  ! 

Bat  that  thy  strange  mutations  make  us  hate  thee, 
Life  would  not  yield  to  age."  KING  LEAR. 

"  GOOD-EVENING,  doctor." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  May,  good-evening.  Chilly  weather  this.  By 
the  way,  I  saw  Mrs.  May  out  to-day.  It  won't  do  for  her  to 
breathe  this  air ;  you  must  keep  her  in  doors." 

"  Do  you  think,  her  disease  progressing  ?  "  said  Mr.  May, 
anxiously. 

"  No,  no.  Don't  be  alarmed ;  I  am  not ;  but  we  must  be 
careful ;  "  and  the  worthy  doctor  hurried  away. 

A  shadow  fell  over  Mr.  May's  face,  and  he  sighed  heavily 
as  he  proceeded  homeward.  His  way  lay  over  the  brow  of 
the  hill,  on  which  stood  the  church  where  he  worshipped,  and, 
to  shorten  the  distance,  he  usually  went  across  the  church- 
yard. As  he  entered  it,  a  cloud  passed  from  before  the 
moon,  and  her  light  fell  brightly  on  the  cross  that  crowned 
the  church  tower  ;  and  the  sight  of  that  blessed  emblem  of 


IDA      MAY. 


our  faith  raised  in  his  mind  associations  and  feelit^  that 
stilled  the  deep  throbbing  of  his  heart. 

Leaning  thoughtfully  against  the  low  paling  that  enclosed 
one  of  the  graves,  he  gazed  around  him. 

The  village  lay  beneath  him  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  and  in 
the  valley,  with  its  houses  gleaming  -white,  in  the  moonlight 
and  the  same  radiance  glittered  on  the  surface  of  the  rivei 
where   a   vessel  was  slowly  sailing,  with  her  snowy  wings 
spread  to  the  soft  breeze.     Lights  gleamed  in  many  windows, 
but  the  quiet  of  evening  had  fallen  on  the  streets,  and  tho 
low  rustling  of  the  night  wind  among  the  trees  was  almost  the 
only  sound  that  fell  upon  his  ear. 

"  Yes,"  said  he  aloud,  "  the  scene  suggests  only  ideas  of 
peace  and  comfort ;  and  yet  in  every  home  are  fears  and  cares 
as  great  as  those  which  disturb  mine.  Happiness,  love,  and 
the  domestic  ties  that  make  life  beautiful,  —  all  must  end 
here ! " 

He  paused,  for  with  startling  vividness  there  came  ovir 
him  the  thought,  "  What  if  this  were  really  the  end  ?  "  — 
and  his  memory  ran  back  to  the  ancient  time  when  the  grave 
was  indeed  the  parting  place ;  when  the  eye  of  Faith  was 
dim,  and  Hope  questioned  fearfully  of  an  after  life.  Alas 
for  the  bereaved  one  then !  From  the  wide  expanse  of 
nature  there  came  no  answer  to  the  soul's  great  question 
From  the  shadowy  bourn,  whither  it  had  fled,  never  might 
the  spirit  return.  Never  might  the  cold  lips  of  the  dead 
murmur  a  reply  to  the  anguish  cf  that  thrilling  questisn,  "  If 
a  man  die,  shall  he  live  again  ?  " 
2 


IDA     MAY 

Hardly  can  we  imagine  the  agony  of  the  last  hours  of  those 
blind  heathen,  when  their  grappling  holl  on  life  was  loosened 

"  Dark  must  have  been  the  gushing  of  their  tears, 
Heavy  the  unsleeping  silence  of  the  tomb 
On  the  impassioned  soul  in  elder  years, 
When,  burdened  with  the  mystery  of  its  doom, 

Mortality's  thick  gloom 
Hung  o'er  the  sunny  world  !  " 

With  what  a  gush  of  exultation  should  gratitude  ascend 
to  Him  whose  death,  rending  in  twain  the  mysterious  veil 
that  for  ages  had  hung  darkly  over  the  portals  of  the  tomb, 
brought  life  and  immortality  to  light !  Still  doth  Love  weep 
over  the  unconscious  bier,  but  her-  tears  fall  not  despairingly 
as  of  yore.  Christ  hath  risen.  0,  words  of  triumph !  The 
cherished  form  is  not  given  up  to  darkness  and  the  worm, 
w*  iiout  the  assurance  that  even  from  corruption  shall  come 
forth  incorruption,  and  the  glorified  body  be  reunited  to  tho 
soul  that  made  it  sentient. 

Christ  hath  risen !  and  we,  too,  in  whose  frail  nature  is 
enclosed  a  type  of  his  infinite  being,  we  shall  rise  from  the 
sleep  of  the  tomb,  and  ascend  to  those  bright  regions  where 
there  is  no  more  night. 

A  smile  came  over  his  face,  and  his  heart  grew  less  sad,  as 
these  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind ;  for  he  was  a  man 
of  strong  religious  feelings,  and  now,  more  than  ever,  he 
Beemed  to  find  therein  the  consolation  which  he  sought. 

Eight  years  had  passed  since  Ernest  May  I  rought  to  his 


IDA     MAY.  13 

father's  home  a  gentle  and  beautiful  bride,  whom  time  had 
only  served  to  make  more  dear  to  him.  A  pleasant  home 
it  was ;  nestled  coseyly  in  a  grove  of  trees  on  the  hill-side,  a 
little  out  of  the  town  of  M ,  in  the  interior  of  Pennsylva- 
nia. He  had  inherited  from  his  father  this  house,  in  which 
he  was  born,  and  a  sufficient  fortune  to  satisfy  his  unambitious 
desires  ;  and  here,  occupied  with  his  favorite  pursuits,  and  in 
the  society  of  his  wife  and  child,  he  had  enjoyed  a  happiness 
that,  until  within  a  few  months,  seemed  wholly  without 
alloy. 

But  now  dim  shadows  were  stealing  ever  the  brightness  of 
his  days.  A  vague  fear  haunted  him,  and  would  not  be 
driven  away.  The  husband  and  wife  gazed  on  each  other, 
and  felt  that  there  was  in  the  heart  of  each  a  thought  of 
terror,  which  they  dared  not  speak.  As  she  leaned  more  and 
more  heavily  on  his  arm,  and  her  light  step  grew  slow  and 
faltering  in  their  daily  walks,  —  as  he  marked  the  quick 
panting  of  her  breath  and  the  fixed  flush  on  her  cheek,  —  as  he 
saw  how,  day  by  day,  her  voice  grew  weaker,  and  her  fair 
flesh  wasted,  —  his  heart  sank  within  him ;  for  he  feared 
that  consumption  had  marked  her  for  its  victim. 

She  knew  it  also.  Well  she  recognized  the  footsteps  of  the 
silent  destroyer,  who  had  borne  to  the  grave  all  the  rest  of 
her  family ;  and,  as  she  felt  those  icy  fingers  sealing  up  the 
fountain  of  life,  she  turned  shuddering  from  the  tomb,  and 
clung  with  trembling  hope  to  the  home  where  love  had  sur- 
rounded her  with  so  many  blessings.  For  a  while  the  weak 
human  nature  prevailed  over  the  divine,  and  she  seemed  tc 


IDA     MAY. 

struggle  vainly  for  the  atta.nment  of  that  strong  faith  thai 
triumphs  over  death. 

The  moon  was  again  hidden  behind  thick  clouds,  and  the 
rain  was  falling,  when  Mr.  May  left  the  church-yard,  and, 
after  a  few  minutes'  walk,  reached  his  own  door. 

Mrs.  May  sat  in  a  large  arm-chair  before  the  fire,  in  a 
quiet  room,  adorned  with  pictures  and  books,  with  a  stand  of 
flowers  in  one  window  ;  and  the  soft  light  of  an  astral  lamp 
filled  it  with  brightness  that  shone  like  a  welcome  into  the 
night-darkness  without.  She  had  been  musing  silontly  for 
some  time,  but,  when  her  ear  caught  the  sound  of  her  hus- 
band's step,  her  pale  face  lighted  with  a  smile,  and  she  half 
rose  to  meet  him  as  he  entered. 

"  You  look  tired,  to-night,  and  sad,  or  thoughtful.  Which 
is  it  ?  "  said  he,  when  he  had  returned  her  greeting. 

"  Perhaps  both,"  she  answered ;  "  for  I  took  a  walk  this 
afternoon,  and  I  have  been  sitting  here  thinking,  since  I  came 
in ;  and  that  is  sad  work  now,  is  it  not  ?  "  she  added,  looking 
up  with  a  faint  smile. 

Her  husband  shook  his  head  playfully.  "  Ah  !  imprudent 
woman,  where  did  you  go  ?  I  shall  have  to  stay  at  home 
and  watch  you,  if  you  are  not  more  careful." 

"  I  did  not  think  it  would  grow  so  damp,  or  I  should  not 
•  have  ventured,"  she  replied.  "  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Allin,  and 
sat  a  long  time  talking  with  her  How  wonderful  it  is  that 
she  should  be  ro  resigned  to  the  aeath  of  that  favorite  child ! 
He  was  her  only  comfort  in  life ;  b.ut  yet  I  believe  she  is 
willing,  in  her  inmost  heart,  that  the  will  of  God  should  ba 


IDA     MAY.  15 

t 

done  She  prefers  it  j  she  is  really  satisfied  that  her  plans 
for  earthly  enjoyment  should  be  thus  suddenly  crushed. 
When  she  was  talking  about  it  to-day,  I  was  forcibly  reminded 
of  the  words  of  David,  '  Thou  shalt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace 
whose  mind  is  stayed  on  thee.' " 

"  There  is  something  sublime  in  such  exalted  piety,"  she 
added,  after  a  pause.  "  This  conquering  of  all  self-will,  so 
that  the  soul  can  welcome  all  things  in  a  holy  silence,  — 
0,  is  not  this  a  state  of  mind  worth  suffering  much  to  attain  ?  " 

"  There  are  many  qualities  of  mind,  and  many  conditions 
of  life,  that  go  to  make  up  such  a  character,"  said  Mr.  May, 
"  and  few  attain  to  it.  Few  have  strength  to  continue  the 
self-discipline  alike  amid  the  smooth  and  the  rough  passages 
of  existence.  We  are  too  apt  to  sink  under  affliction,  with 
a  kind  of  dumb  despair,  which,  if  it  does  not  murmur  at  the 
hand  that  chastens,  says,  sadly,  '  Never  was  sorrow  liko 
unto  my  sorrow.' " 

.  "  And  in  our  happy  days,"  said  his  wife,  "  we  find  it  easy 
to  content  ourselves  with  a  cold  and  careless  gratitude,  that 
lessens  self-control  more  than  even  the  pressure  of  grief.  We 
grow  cold-hearted  and  careless,  and  then,  when  the  hour  of 
trial  comes,  we  find  ourselves  weak  and  helpless.  (),  if  it 
were  not  so  hard  to  feel  right,  and  to  do  right !  " 

I'oor  Mrs.  May  closed  her  eyes,  to  keep  back  the  tears, 
and  sank  down  into  her  arm-chair  with  a  deep  sigh.  Her 
husband  gavied  upon  her  with  a  throbbing  heart,  for  ho  knew 
whither  her  thoughts  tended ;  and  like  a  shadow  falling 


16  I  DA     M  AY. 

darkly  down  to  shut  her  from  his  sight,  there  glided  into  hii 
mind  the  image  of  death. 

A  shudder  passed  over  him,  and,  foi  a  moment,  his  eyes 
were  dim ;  but  he  would  not  yield  to  his  emotions,  and,  taking 
in  his  own  the  hands  that  had  clasped  themselves  involunta- 
rily, as  if  in  prayer,  he  said,  cheerfully, 

"  Courage  !  courage  !  dear  one.  These  tremblings  and 
fears  are  not  for  those  whom  the  strong  arm  of  God  upholds. 
This  darkness  is  not  for  those  who  walk  in  the  light  of  his 
love." 

"  0,  Ernest ! "  she  answered,  mournfully,  "  I  am  weak. 
Never  till  now  did  I  feel  how  weak,  how  incapable  of  self- 
abnegation.  I  admire  the  perfection  of  Christian  character, 
but  I  shrink,  weakly,  wickedly,  from  the  conflict  by  which 
alone  it  is  to  be  obtained.  I  am  as  one  who  struggles  faintly, 
in  a  dream,  with  shadows.  Life  passes  over  me,  and  her 
warm  breath  encircles  me,  but  there  is  no  answering  life  and 
energy  within.  Day  after  day  glides  from  me  ;  hour  after 
hour  more  surely  my  destiny  reveals  itself.  Ernest,"  she 
cried,  suddenly,  raising  herself  and  gazing  intently  into  his 
eyes,  "  Ernest,  can  you  read  it  ? " 

With  an  irrepressible  cry  jf  anguish,  her  husband  caughx 
her  in  his  arms,  and  clasped  her  to  his  breast. 

"  O,  God  !  "  he  said,  "  it  must  not  be  !  It  shall  not  ^  ! 
"What  can  I  do  without  you,  Mary ;  and  you  —  could  you  be 
happy,  even  in  heaven,  without  me  ? " 

"  O,  hush  !  "  said  his  wife,  placing  her  thin  hand  over  his 
quivering  lips.  "  This  is  wrong.  We  are  both  wrong.  Wo 


I  1)  A     M  A  Y.  17 

have  lived  too  much  for  each  other.  Ernest,  for  thy  sake, 
even  the  eternal  life,  on  which  thou  canst  not  now  enter  with 
me,  seems  less  dear,  less  glorious  to  me !  And  0,  who  wil 
guard  our  child  with  a  mother's  cai  3  ?  Who  will  love  her 
with  a  mother's  untiring  sympathy  and  patience,  if  I  am 
taken  away  ?  How  can  it  be  best  that  she  shall  sustain  such 
an  irreparable  loss  ?  0,  it  is  hard !  it  is  hard  to  die !  O, 
my  husband '  0,  my  child  !  my  little  child  !  " 

She  paused  suddenly,  and  a  change  came  over  her  face  as 
she  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips.  When  she  removed 
it,  it  was  colored  with  a  bright-red  stain.  She  had  ruptured 
a  blood-vessel. 

In  a  moment  all  was  alarm  and  confusion  in  that  once 
happy  home.  The  doctor  was  called,  and  the  usual  remedies 
applied  to  stanch  the  bleeding,  and,  gently  as  one  would 
bear  an  infant,  Mr.  May  bore  the  wasted  form  of  his  wife  up 
stairs  to  her  bed,  in  that  room  she  was  never  to  leave  again 
till  shrouded  in  the  garments  of  the  grave.  From  the  mo- 
ment of  that  fatal  hemorrhage  the  cruel  disease,  whose  ap- 
proaches had  hitherto  been  so  silent  and  slow,  threw  off  all 
disguise,  and  with  sure  and  rapid  progress  consummated  its 
work. 

But  in  that  chamber  of  suffering,  where  human  love  wrestled 
vainly  with  death,  there  was  felt  the  presence  of  an  unseen 
Power,  making  strong  the  weak-hearted,  and  upholding  the 
footsteps  that  trod  the  dark  valley.  The  prayers  that  were 
offered,  the  ceaseless,  imploring  cries  for  help  and  comfort, 
were  not  in  vain.  In  that  fierce  furnace  of  affliction,  beside 


18  I  D  A     M  A  Y 

those  chastened  ones,  there  walked  "  One  having  the  likeness 
of  the  Son  of  God,"  and  in  taat  divine  companionship  the 
anguish  and  the  terror  passed  away.  He  touched  their  eyes, 
and  the  barriers  that  hide  the  invisible  were  removed.  All 
that  had  seemed  dark  was  lightened,  all  that  was  obscure  was 
revealed.  Calmly  they  took  the  bitter  cup,  and  drank  it 
slowly  to  its  dregs ;  and,  lo !  it  became  a  holy  sacrament, 
whereon  the  soul  feeds  as  on  heavenly  inanna. 

When  the  last  word  was  said,  and  the  last  token  given,  he 
fflio  was  left  alone  at  midnight  with  his  dead,  bowed  his  head 
in  a  holy  and  tearless  silence ;  for  he  seemed  to  himself  to 
have  seen  the  portals  of  heaven  opened,  and  heard  the  unut- 
terable words  wherewith  a  beautified  spirit  was  welcomed  to 
fiternal  bliss. 

But  the  child,  the  little  one  over  whom  that  mother's  heart 
had  yearned  with  inexpressible  tenderness,  the  child  who  had 
been  borne  sleeping  to  the  silent  room,  and  laid  on  the  bed 
beside  the  dying,  that  her  hands  might,  till  the  last  moment, 
retain  their  hold  of  her  dearest  treasures ;  how  Bad  was  her 
waking  from  that  sleep  beside  the  dead !  how  pitiful  the  wail- 
ing cry  of  childhood,  "  O,  my  mother !  give  rne  back  my 
mother  ! "  Sadder  still,  and  more  touching,  if  possible,  was 
her  endeavor  at  self-control,  when  she  became  sensible  that 
her  paroxysms  of  grief  added  to  her  father's  distress,  and  her 
efforts  to  amuse  him,  wiping  with  her  small,  soft  hand  the 
tears  from  his  eyes,  and  striving  to  amuse  him  with  the  play- 
things of  which  she  took  no  notice  at  anj  other  time.  How 
often,  in  {he  deep  and  terrible  trouble  which  afterwards 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  19 

befell  him,  did  that  desolate  father  recall  these  winsome  acts 
and  the  musical  tones  of  her  voice,  and  wonder  that  he  should 
have  esteemed  himself  so  forlorn  while  he  held  that  treasure 
to  his  heart ! 

For,  one  day,  —  it  was  her  fifth  birth-day,  —  three  or  four 
months  after  her  mother's  death,  little  Ida  and  her  nurse 
walked  oat  to  gather  flowers  that  grew  along  the  side  cf  a 
lonely  road,  which  led  through  a  piece  jof  woodland,  not  far 
from  the  house.  It  was  one  of  those  glorious  days  in  June, 
that  make  poets  overflow  with  inspiration,  and  awaken  the 
dormant  organ  of  ideality  in  the  most  prosaic;  and  the  clear 
air,  the  sunshine  shimmering  through  green  branches,  and  the 
melody  of  birds  that  rang  through  the  woods,  tempted  them" 
to  prolong  their  walk  till  they  reached  the  top  of  .a  hill,  up 
which,  after  the  fashion  of  our  ancestors,  the  road  had  been 
made  to  ascend.  This  had-  once  been  the  mail  route  from 

V 

Philadelphia,  westward,  but  a  more  direct  and  less  hilly  one 
having  been  constructed,  the  old  road  was  left  to  solitude, 
except  for  the  occasional  passing  of  the  farmers'  carts,  and 
the  loitering,  carriages  of  the  few  pleasure-seeking  travellers, 
who  preferred  it  on  account  of  the  picturesque  scenery  through 
which  it  wound.  Having  ascended  the  hill,  Ida  seated  herself 
to  rest  on  a  fallen  tree  that  .lay  along  a  bank  by  the  roadside, 
and  Bessy,  the  maid,  who  had  gathered  her  apron  full  of 
flowers,  sat  down  beside  her  to  weave  them  into  a  wreath 
with  which  to  ornament  her  straw  hat.  As  they  were  thus 
occupied,  a  close  carriage.,  drawn  by  two  horses,  came  slowly 
up  the  hill  fallowed  by  two  men,  who  sauntered  along  as  if 


20  I  D  A     M  A  Y  . 

enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  hour  and  the  scene.  When  nearly 
opposite  the  fallen  tree,  the  horses  stopped  of  themselves,  as 
if  waiting  for  their  driver,  who,  with  his  companion,  soon 
came  up  with  them.  When  they  saw  the  two  children  —  for 
Bessy,  a  maiden  of  fifteen,  was  small  of  her  age,  and  looked 
much  younger  —  they  paused,  and,  after  looking  at  them  a 
moment,  said  a  few  words  to  each  other,  and  then  one  of 
them  got  into  the  carriage  and  took  the  reins,  while  the  other 
approached  the  place  where  they  w?re  sitting.  Bessy  was 
accustomed  to  having  strangers  compliment  the  beauty  of  her 
little  charge,  and  never  had  she  looked  so  beautiful  as  now. 
She  had  taken  off  her  hat,  and  her  long  dark  curls  were 
hanging  carelessly  down  her  cheeks,  and  over  her  neck,  twined 
with  a  long  spray  of  delicate  pink  flowers,  with  which  she 
had  ornamented  herself.  The  mourning-dress  showed  her 
clear,  dark  complexion  to  great  advantage ;  her  cheeks  and 
lips  were  like  blushing  rose-buds,  and  her  brilliant  eyes  were 
lighted  with  merriment.  Seen  in  the  softened  light  of  her 
leafy  resting-place,  with  the  deep  shade  of  the  forest  for  a 
background,  she  formed  a  picture  on  which  a  painter's  eye 
would  have  rested  with  untold  delight.  But  other  thoughts 
were  in  the  mind  of  the  dark-browed  man  who  now  ap- 
proached them.  Standing  beside  Ida,  he  twined  her  curls 
around  his  fingers,  and  asked  her  a  few  questions,  such  as 
are  usually  addressed  to  a  pretty  child,  seen  for  the  first  time, 
to  which  she  replied  fearlessly.  At  length,  turning  partly 
away,  as  if  to  regain  his  carriage,  the  stranger  stopped  sud- 
denly, an/i  said  to  Bessy,  "  I  find  T  Ye  dropped  my  whip, 


IDA     MAY. 

walking  up,  —  there  't  is,  lying  in  the  road,"  he  added,  point- 
ing to  something  on  the  ground,  about  half-way  down  the 
hill,  —  "  come  now,  you  're  younger  'n  I  am  ;  s'pose  you  run 
down  and  get  it,  that 's  a  good  girl,  and  I  '11  stay  with  the 
little  girl  till  you  come  back." 

Bessy  hesitated  a  moment,  not  that  she  thought  of  danger, 
but  she  feared  the  child  might  not  like  to  be  left  alone  with  a 
stranger.  "  Will  you  stay  here  while  I  go  get  the  man's 
whip  ? "  she  asked  Ida. 

The  child  turned  her  eyes  earnestly  upon  him  for  an 
instant,  and  then,  unwilling  to  own  any  fear,  but  yet  detecting, 
with  a  child's  instinct  something  sinister  in  the  gaze  that  was 
fixed  upon  her,  she  rose  from  her  seat,  and  said  simply,  "  I 
will  go  with  you." 

"  0,  no !"  replied  Bessy;  "you  can't  run  quick  enough, 
without  getting  tired,  and  there  's  no  good  place  there  to  sit 
and  rest,  as  there  is  here.  I  won't  be  gone  but  a  minute." 

"  Well,"  said  the  child,  reseating  herself  with  a  dignified 
air,  which  she  sometimes  assumed,  and  which  was  amusing  in 
one  so  young,  —  "  the  man  may  go  get  into  his  carriage,  and 
I  '11  stay  here  alone  and  see  you  go." 

The  stranger  laughed,  and  took  a  few  steps  forward,  and 
Bessy  ran  down  the  hill ;  but  when  she  arrived  at  the  object 
pointed  out,  she  found  it  only  a  dry  stick,  and  was  turning  to 
go  back,  when  a  shriek  struck  her  ear,  and  she  saw  th^  child 
struggling  in  the  arms  of  the  stranger,  who  put  her  into  the 
carriage,  jumped  in  after  her,  and  immediately  the  horses 
iashed  away  out  of  sight.  Fear  lent  her  wings ;  but  when  she 


IDA     MAY. 

reached  the  spot  whence  they  had  started,  they  \pere  in  the 
valley  below,  and  galloping  at  a  pace  that  made  pursuit  hope- 
less. Still  she  ran  after  them,  filled  with  terror  and  anguish 
for  the  loss  of  the  child,  and  yet  hoping  it  might  be  that  the 
men  were  playing  some  rude  joke  to  frighten  them  both,  and 
expecting  every  moment  to  see  the  carriage  stop,  and  allow 
her  to  take  her  little  charge.  But  no ;  it  kept  on  and  on, 
never  slackening  its  speed,  and  the  poor  girl  followed,  calling 
wildly,  and  entreating  the  pity  of  those  pitiless  ones  who 
were  far  beyond  the  reach  of  her  voice.  So  long  as  the  car- 
riage remained  in  sight,  although  far  distant,  she  had  still  a 
little  hope ;  and  when  now  and  then  she  paused  for  an  instant, 
to  take  breath,  she  heard,  or  fancied  she  heard,  the  piercing 
cries  of  the  poor  child,  and  the  sound  stimulated  her  to  almost 
superhuman  exertions ;  so  that,  when  at  length  a  turn  of  the 
road  hid  it  from  her  eyes,  and  she  fell  down  on  the  ground, 
almost  dead  with  exhaustion,  she  was  more  than  two  miles 
from  home. 

How  long  she  lay  there,  faint  and  insensible,  she  never 
knew,  but  she  was  roused  by  some  one  shaking  her  arm  a 
little  roughly  as  he  raised  her,  and  a  voice  that  said, 
"  Bless  my  soul,  if  this  a'n't  the  little  gal  that  lives  to  Squire 
May's!  What  on  airth  be  you  doin'  here"?  " 

"O  Miss  Ida!  —  dear,  little  Ida!"  moaned  the  girl,- 
"  they 've  carried  her  off;  did  you  meet  them, — have  you 
got  her  ?  "  she  added,  the  sudden  hope  awakening  her  to  life 
and  energy. 

"Got   who?      Who's   carried   ell  '      What    you    talking 


I  D  A    M  A  IT .  23 

about,  gal,  and  how  come  you  here  ?  "  asked  the  astonished 
farmer,  who,  having  nearly  driven  over  her,  as  he  rode  lazily 
along  to  town,  now  stood  half  supporting  her.  "  Why,  yo 
poor  cretur,"  he  added,  "  one  o'  your  shoes  is  off,  and  your 
foot 's  a  bleeding,  and  you  're  all  over  dust.  Who  's  been 
a  hurting  of  ye  ?  " 

"  0,  Mr.  Brady !  "  said  Bessy,  who,  having  by  this  time 
collected  her  scattered  senses,  now  recognized  her  companion, 
"  did  you  meet  a  carriage,  with  two  hordes,  driving  like  mad  ? 
I  was  with  little  Ida,  on  the  top  of  the  hill,  just  out  on  the 
Bridge-road,  and  that  carriage  came  along,  and  two  men  were 
after  it,  and  one  of  them  stopped  and  spoke  to  us,  and  asked 
me  to  go  get  his  whip  that  he  had  dropped,  and  while  I  was 
going,  they  took  the  child.  I  heard  her  scream,  and  turned 
round  just  in  time  to  see  them  drive  off  with  her,  and  so  I 
ran  after  them  till  I  dropped  down  here." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  said  Mr.  Brady,  —  "  who  ever  hear'n 
tell !  So  they  carried  away  the  poor  little  girl,  did  they  ?  I 
thought  they  was  driving  awful  fast." 

".  Did  you  meet  them  ?  —  0,  did  you  see  her  ?  "  said 
Bessy. 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  't  was  them.  There  was  a  carriage  and 
two  horses,  jest  down  by  widder  Wilby's  farm,  in  the  hollow 
there,  and  they  was  driving  like  mad.  I  saw  them  coming 
down  the  hill,  and  so  I  hauled  up,  till  they  was  by." 

"  0,  then  they  do  mean  to  carry  her  off!  —  O,  dear  !  0, 
dear  !  what  shall  I  do  2  I  shall  never  dare  to  go  home  and 
3 


24  IDA     MAT. 

t°ll  her  father !  "  —  and  the  girl  wrung  hei  hands  in  despair, 
and  sank  down  again  in  the  road. 

u  Well,  now,"  said  farmer  Brady,  in  his  slow,  calm  man- 
ner, "  I  guess  the  best  thing  ye  can  do  is  to  go  home  as  fast 
as  ye  can,  —  T  '11  give  ye  a  lift  in  my  wagon,  —  and  tell  her 
father,  and  he  can  go  after  'em,  with  horses  that  '11  stand  a 
better  chance  o'  ketchin'  up  with  'em,  than  you  will." 

This  advice  was  followed,  but  the  Brady  "colt,"  —  the 
period  of  whose  birth  was  lost  in  the  mists  of  antiquity,  —  hav- 
ing been  asleep  for  the  last  ten  years,  it  was  rather  difficult  to 
induce  him  to  quicken  his  pace  on  this  occasion,  and  thus 
some  time  elapsed  before  the  distressed  and  impatient  girl 
reached  Mr.  May's  house.  He  was  not  at  home,  and  she 
was  just  going  to  town  to  seek  him,  when  he  arrived  at  the 
gate.  His  first  glance  at  the  group  which  came  to  meet  him 
caused  him  to  quicken  his  steps,  for  he  knew  something  was 
amiss ;  and  when  Bessy  ran  forward,  and,  sinking  at  his  feet, 
sobbed  out  his  daughter's  name,  a  pang  shot  through  his  heart 
so  severe  as  to  foretell  in  some  measure  the  suffering  that  was 
before  him. 

•'  My  child  —  what  of  her  ?  She  is  not  dead  !  "  he  said,  in 
the  low,  hoarse  tones  of  intense  anxiety. 

"  No,  no ! "  said  Bessy,  "  but  two  men  have  stolen  her  — 
carried  her  away  in  a  carriage !  O,  hurry  and  go  after 
diem  !  O,  Mr.  May,  —  I  shall  die  if  we  don't  find  her  !  " 

Paler  than  death  grew  the  face  of  that  miserable  father ;  a 
mist  passed  before  his  eyes,  and  for  a  moirent  he  leaned  heav- 
ily agai*t  the  fence  beside  him.  It  was  but  a  moment,  and 


IDA    MA  V  25 

then  he  sprang  forward  to  order  the  horses  put  ink  the  car- 
riage, and,  having  learned  the  sad  story  more  explicitly  from 
Bessy,  he  took  her  with  him  to  aid  in  finding  their  track  as 
far  as  she  had  followed  it.  They  had  no  difficulty  in  pursu- 
ing the  kidnappers  forty  miles,  to  a  town  where  they  had  left 
some  horses  three  days  before,  taken  in  exchange  others, 
which  they  had  now  brought  back,  and,  ordering  their  own, 
had  proceeded  on  their  journey  a  few  hours  before  Mr.  May's 
arrival  in  the  same  place.  Without  losing  a  moment,  he  had 
fresh  horses  put  in  his  own  carriage,  and,  leaving  Bessy  to  the 
care  of  the  landlady,  he  hired  a  man  to  assist  him,  when  he 
should  overtake  the  fugitives,  as  he  had  now  strong  hope  of 
doing.  But,  unfortunately,  only  a  few  miles  from  town,  one 
of  the  linchpins  came  out  and  they  were  overturned.  Neither 
of  them  was  injured,  but  some  part  of  the  harness  was 
broken,  and  the  accident  delayed  them  an  hour  or  two. 

Once  again  on  the  way,  they  followed  the  track  of  the  car- 
riage, with  ever  increasing  difficulty,  for  it  had  diverged  into 
byways,  and  stopped  at  none  of  the  large  towns ;  but  they 
went  on  as  swiftly  as  possible  to  Hagerstown,  just  within  the 
borders  of  Maryland.  Here  they  found  that  only  the  night 
before,  the  object  of  their  pursuit  had  been  returned,  with  the 
horses,  to  the  stable  from  which  they  had  been  hired  several 
days  previously,  by  a  man  whcse  appearance  agreed  with 
Bessy's  description  of  the  one  who  had  seized  the  child  ;  but 
he  had  been  alone  both  in  hiring  and  returning  the  carriage. 
By  further  inquiry,  he  ascertained  that  the  same  person  had 
tared  carriages  and  horses  at  this  stable  several  times  before 


'JO  I  D  A     M  A  y  . 

and,  though  some  curiosity  had  been  excited  with  regard  A 
him,  his  movements  had  never  been  watched,  or  any  suspicious 
entertained  respecting  him.  And  thus  the  clue  was  lost ;  for 
the  mysterious  stranger  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

0,  the  bitter,  bitter  anguish  of  that  disappointment !  —  the 
fearful  perplexity  and  uncertainty  with  which,  all  that  night, 
Mr.  May  paced  the  floor  of  his  chamber,  feeling  that  the  only 
drop  of  consolation  remaining  for  him  was  the  thought  that 
the  beloved  mother  of  his  child  had  been  removed  beyond  thc 
reach  of  this  woe.  Again  and  again  he  groaned  aloud,  — 
"  Thou  hast  taken  her  away  from  the  evil  to  come,"  —  and  IE 
the  unselfishness  of  his  true  heart  his  own  desolation  was  for 
a  moment  forgotten. 

When  morning  came,  his  case  had  become  known  to  the 
citizens,  and.  many  of  them  came  to  offer  sympathy  and  all 
of  help  that  could»be  given  ;  but  none  knew  what  to  advise 
and  he  was  equally  uncertain  what  to  do ;  for  seven  roads 
lead  in  different  directions  from  the  town,  and  by  which  of 
them  should  he  seek  his  child  ?  At  length  it  was  determined 
to  send  messengers  along  each  route,  and  Mr.  May  joined  one 
party ;  for,  worn  out  as  he  was,  he  was  too  wretched  to 
remain  quiet.  But  nothing  was  heard  of  the  persons  they 
sought.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  the  earth  must  have  opened 
and  swallowed  them  up,  so  completely  had  all  traces  of  them 
vanished  ;  and  nothing  was  left  for  the  miserable  man  but  to 
retrace  his  steps  to  his  lonely  home,  and  offer  a  reward  for 
his  daughter's  recovery,  in  the  hope  that  avarice  might  induce 
her  ca»  tors  to  give  her  up. 


IDA    MAY.  27 

Poor  Bessy  was  entirely  overcome  when  she  saw  him 
return  without  the  lost  child,  for  his  prolonged  absence  had 
raised  her  expectations,  and  no  words  can  tell  the  dull  despair 

of  that  long  day  during  which  they  travelled  to  M . 

Bessy  spent  it  in  constant  tears,  and  frequently  broke  out  in 
lamentations  and  reminiscences;  but  Mr.  May  uttered  neither 
word  nor  groan,  and  his  glaring  and  burning  eyes  seemed 
incapable  of  weeping.  For  six  nights  he  had  not  slept,  and 
had  only  forced  himself  to  swallow  food,  meantime,  that  his 
strength  might  not  fail ;  and  now  his  whole  frame  was  racked 
with  feverish  pain,  and  his  brain  seemed  bursting.  The  sun 
was  just  setting  when  they  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  where 
the  fatal  deed  had  been  accomplished ;  and,  checking  his 
horses  almost  involuntarily,  he  looked  around.  Everything 
was  the  same,  —  green  and  beautiful  as  on  that  morning. 
Could  it  be  the  sorrow  in  his  own  heart  that  cast  a  black 
shadow  over  all  ?  As  he  sat,  absorbed  in  gloomy  thought,  his 
eye  fell  on  something  white  gleaming  behind  the  fallen  tree. 
Springing  out  of  the  carriage,  and  going  nearer,  he  discovered 
that  it  was  his  daughter's  straw-hat,  still  crowned  with  the 
faded  flowers  with  which  her  own  little  hands  had  ornamented 
it.  With  a  choking  sob,  that  seemed  to  suspend  his  very 
breath,  he  seized  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  to  his  heart ;  and 
at  the  touch  of  that  sacred  relic  of  the  lost  one  the  torturing 
tension  of  his  nerves  gave  way,  and  throwing  himself  along 
the  log,  he  wept  freely.  They  were  the  first  tears  he  had 
shed,  and  they  saved  his  reason  or  his  life. 

But,  0  !  the  tomb-like  silence  of  that  deserted  house  !  0, 
3* 


28  IDA     MAI. 

the  long  days  and  months  that  followed  ;  the  feverish  excite, 
ment  of  hope,  that  was  indulged  only  to  baffle  and  rack  the 
soul  with  fresh  disappointment ;  the  wearing  heart-sickness 
of  expectations  that  were  never  realized,  and  the  harrowing 
fears  and  images  of  terror  that  haunted  him  like  a  nightmare, 
waking  him  from  slumber  trembling  and  covered  with  tlie 
cold  sweat  of  agony,  and  making  his  days  a  prolonged  tor- 
ment !  Handbills  were  issued,  and  scattered  in  every  direc- 
tion, offering  enormous  rewards  for  the  child,  or  for  any 
information  respecting  her ;  and  when  they  were  found  inef 
fectual,  Mr.  May's  friends  urged  him  to  believe  that  some 
fatal  accident  had  ended  alike  her  sufferings  and  her  life ; 
but  though  this  thought  would  have  been  an  infinite  relief,  he 
could  not  indulge  it.  One  idea,  suggested  by  the  course  the 
kidnappers  had  first  taken,  was  constantly  present  with  him  , 
and  the  knowledge  of  the  fate  to  which  his  innocent  and 
beautiful  child  would  be  exposed  as  a  slave,  almost  maddened 
him.  Restless  and  utterly  heart-broken,  he  spent  two  years 
in  travelling  through  the  Southern  States,  visiting  every  slave 
market,  and  growing  more  and  more  sick  with  apprehension, 
as  he  became  acquainted  with  the  evils  inseparably  connected 
with  the  system  in  its  most  favorable  conditions,  and  saw  the 
unutterable  indignities  and  cruelties  of  the  sla-rc  pens  and 
auctions. 

One  thing  which  he  learned,  in  his  search,  impressed  him 
with  astonishment,  and  that  was  the  mtmber  of  children,  both 
colored  and  white,  that  have  been  in  various  ways  stolen  and 
lost.  From  every  direction  tidings  of  this  sort  came  to  him, 
sometimes  from  those  who,  with  the  sympathy  of  a  kindred 


IDA     MAY.  29 

sorrow,  wished  to  condole  with  him  on  his  loss,  and  sometimes 
from  parents  too  poor  to  prosecute  the  search  themselves,  beg- 
ging him,  while  looking  for  his  own  child,  to  inquire  for  theirs. 
In  a  few  cases  he  was  successful  in  obtaining  information  that 
led  to  the  discovery  of  the  lost  ones ;  but  of  his  own  little 
wanderer  he  found  no  trace,  and  his  hair  grew  gray,  and  his 
form  thin  and  bent  and  prematurely  old ;  but,  however  hope- 
less of  success,  he  could  not  relinquish  his  weary  journeyings. 
At  length,  nearly  three  years  after  Ida's  disappearance,  when 
he  had  spent  nearly  all  his  fortune,  one  of  his  friends  in 

M ,  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  May,  directing  him  to 

sell  the  house  and  grounds,  and  remit  him  the  proceeds.  He 
had  heard  of  a  little  girl  named  Ida,  who  was  sold  in  the 
slave  market  in  New  Orleans  a  year  previous.  True,  the 
description  given  of  the  child  was  not  exactly  like  his  own 
Ida;  but  the  auctioneer  had  noticed  that  there  were  no  traces 
of  negro  blood  about  her,  and,  as  this  was  the  only  clue  he 
now  possessed,  he  was  determined  to  follow  it.  This  girl  had 
been  purchased  by  a  French  gentleman,  who  soon  aftei  took 
her  with  his  family  to  Cuba,  and  thither  the  father  went  to 
seek  her.  Letters  were  again  received  from  him  at  Cuba, 
saying  that  the  family  he  sought  had  left  the  island  a  few 
months  before  for  their  native  land ;  and  he  was  about  to 
embark  for  France,  in  the  faint  hope  of  finding  his  lost  dar- 
ling. A  few  days  after  the  date  o\  his  embarkation,  one  of 
the  fearful  hurricanes  that  sometimes  visit  that  latitude,  swept 
wer  tho  ocean,  and  the  vessel  in  which  he  sailed  was  nevei 
igain  heard  from. 


CHAPTER    III. 

I 

"  But  this  is  a  people  robbed  and  spoiled;  they  are  all  of  them  snared 
In  holes  and  are  hid  in  prison  houses.  They  are  for  a  prey,  and  none 
delivereth,  for  a  spoil,  and  none  saith,  Restore."  —  ISAIAH  42  :  22. 

FOR  a  few  moments  after  Ida's  capture,  she  continued  to 
scream  violently,  partly  from  fright  and  partly  from  angor  at 
the  rudeness  to  which  she  had  been  subjected,  for  she  had  no 
definite  idea  respecting  the  cause  or  the  duration  of  her  forced 
drive  in  that  closely -shut  carriage.  But  when  her  companion, 
shaking  her  violently,  told  her  to  be  still  or  he  would  kill  her, 
and  enforced  his  words  by  a  tingling  blow  on  her  cheek,  all 
other  feelings,  even  the  sense  of  pain,  were  lost  in  the  extrem- 
ity of  terror,  and  she  shrank  away  from  him  and  sat  silent  and 
motionless,  save  for  the  stifled  sobs  that  swelled  her  bosom. 
Yet,  as  the  swift  motion  continued,  and  she  became  sensible 
that  she  was  being  borne  rapidly  away  from  home  and  all 
she  loved,  she  ventured  timidly  to  ask  her  companion  why  he 
had  taken  her,  and  where  she  was  going. 

"  0,  I  'm  only  going  to  take  you  to  ride  a  little  way,"  he 
replied.  "You  be  a  good  girl  and  keep  still,  and  we  '11  sec 
Jots  of  pretty  things." 

"  What  made  you  strike  me  so  hard  for,  then  ?  "  said  the 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  31 

ciuld ,  and  why  did  n't  you  let  Bessy  come  ?  I  don't  want 
to  go  without  Bessy." 

"  0,  Bessy  '11  come  by  and  by ;  and  if  you  are  good,  I  'U 
give  you  candy." 

"  I  don't  want  candy,  and  I  do  want  Bessy.  0  Bessy ! 
Bessy  !  come  and  take  me  !  "  she  cried,  piteously . 

"  Come,  now,  hush  !  "  said  the  man.  "  What  are  you 
afraid  of  ?  I  '11  carry  you  back.  Hush,  I  tell  you  !  I  '11 
be  good  to  you,  if  you  won't  cry.  I  'm  a  first-rate  fellow  to 
good  little  girls,  and  they  all  like  me.  Come,  stop  crying 
and  give  us  a  kiss.  You  're  a  mighty  pretty  little  girl." 
And,  as  he  spoke,  he  drew  her  toward  him  with  an  ill-feigned 
show  of  tenderness,  and  attempted  to  kiss  her. 

But  the  child  indignantly  resisted  him.  "  Get  away,  you 
bad  man  !  "  she  said  ;  "  you  shan't  kiss  me.  You  have  no 
right  to  take  me  away  from  papa  and  Bessy,  and  I  will  cry 
till  I  make  you  carry  me  home  again  ; "  and  she  burst  into 
wild  screams,  which  could  hardly  be  stilled,  even  for  a  mo- 
ment, by  the  fierce  threats  and  repeated  blows  that  were 
administered.  At  length,  as  they  slackened  their  pace  some- 
what, in  ascending  a  hill,  the  driver  opened  a  small  win- 
dow in  the  screen  behind  him,  that  closed  the  front  of  the 
carriage,  and  said,  shaking  his  fist  at  her  as  he  spoke, 

"  I  see  something  coming  up  over  the  top  o'  the  hill,  and 
if  you  don't  stop  that  young  'un  yelling,  the  fat  '11  be  all  in 
the  fire.  I  say,  Kelly,  stop  her" 

"  I  '11  fix  her,  Bill,"  was  the  reply ;  and,  taking  a  thick 
*'ooreri  scarf  from  under  the  seat,  he  suddenly  threw  it  ovei 


32  I  D  A     M  A  Y  . 

her  Lead  atd  aroun  1  her  mouth,  in  such  a  way  as  completely 
to  smother  her  cries,  and  almost  to  stop  respiration.  Thus 
they  continued  for  some  miles ;  and  when  it  was  removed, 
the  poor  child,  overcome  by  fright  and  suffering,  dared  make 
no  further  resistance,  but  wept  silently,  and  at  last  fell  into 
an  uneasy  sleep.  "When  she  awoke,  it  was  nearly  dark,  and 
as  soon  as  she  opened  her  eyes,  Kelly  ordered  the  carriage 
to  stop  ;  and,  taking  a  little  cup  and  phial  from  his  pocket,  he 
poured  out  a  spoonful  of  dark  liquid,  which  he  diluted  with 
water  from  a  large  bottle  beside  him,  and  then  put  the  cup  to 
her  lips.  It  was  very  bitter,  and,  after  the  first  swallow,  she 
drew  back.  "  Drink  it !  "  said  he,  raising  his  hand  as  if  to 
strike  her ;  and  she  complied  instantly. 

"  There,  now,  that 's  a  good  girl,"  said  he ;  "  you  shall 
have  some  candy."  And,  as  he  spoke,  he  offered  her  a  little 
piece. 

"  I  don't  want  the  candy,  but  I  'm  very  thirsty,  —  will  you 
give  me  some  water  ?  " 

"  0,  yes,"  replied  Kelly  ;  and,  as  she  drank  it,  he  added, 
"  You  are  a  little  fool  not  to  like  candy.  You  '11  have  bitter 
enough  in  this  world,  I  'm  thinking,  and  you  M  better  take  all 
the  sweet  you  can  get." 

"  Why  will  I  have  bitter  enough  ? ."  said  Ida,  tinvicfly. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"You '11  find  that  out  soon  enough," replied  her  companion, 
with  a  sardonic  laugh ;  "  you  need  n't  be  in  any  hurry.  Lit 
tie  girls  had  n't  ought  to  ask  questions  ;  —  have  n't  yoi/  been 
told  that  ? " 


I  I)  A     M  A  I  .  33 

• 

Thus  repulsed,  the  child  sank  back  into  her  corner,  and 
said  nothing  more,  and  soon,  yielding  to  the  influence  of  the 
powerful  soporific  she  had  taken,  she  fell  into  a  deep  slumber. 
Thus  it  was  that,  stretched  lifelessly  on  the  seat  of  the  car- 
riage, with  her  senses  fast  locked  in  oblivion,  she  knew 
nothing  of  their  stopping  at  the  hotel  to  have  the  horses 
changed,  and  made  no  sound  by  which  she  could  have  been 
discovered.  The  days  that  followed,  during  that  painful  jour- 
ney, were  but  a  repetition  of  the  first,  except  that  her  at- 
tempts at  resistance  became  fewer  as  she  yielded  more  and 
more  to  the  influence  of  fatigue,  and  fear,  and  suffering.  The 
men  stopped  at  small  farm-houses  to  bait  their  horses,  and  ate 
their  own  food  in  the  carriage,  taking  turns  at  driving  and 
sleeping  alternately.  At  length,  one  afternoon,  just  after  sun- 
set, the  carriage  passed  along  a  road  which  wound  round  the 
foot  of  a  mountain,  that  was  covered  almost  to  its  summit 
with  an  apparently  unbroken  forest,  above  which  the  gray 
crags,  wild  and  broken,  stood  out  in  sharp  relief  against  the 
clear  western  sky.  Suddenly  the  driver  checked  his  horses, 
and,  opening  the  door  of  the  carriage,  his  companion  got  out, 
and  took  in  his  arms  the  passive  little  figure  beside  him. 
Without  further  pause,  Kelly,  who  was  driving,  applied  the 
whip,  and  th  horses  darted  rapidly  away ;  and  almost  as 
quickly,  with  the  child  still  in  his  arms,  Bill  sprang  behind 
the  trees,  and,  after  plunging  for  a  few  rods  through  a  tangled 
maze  of  underbrush,  he  came  out  on  a  footpath,  narrow  in- 
deed, but  distinctly  defined  even  in  that  uncertain  light. 
Here,  putting  down  his  burden,  he  paused  and  sat  down  to 


34  IDA     MAY. 

• 

rest.  The  child  stood  still,  and  looked  around  her.  Dim 
shadows  were  on  every  side,  in  which  the  hug§  trunks  of  the 
trees  stood  in  grim  silence,  like  threatening  monsters ;  but, 
gazing  up  between  the  branches  that  closed  above  her,  she 
saw  far  away  the  blue,  cloudless  heavens,  filled  with  softened 
light,  just  as  she  had  seen  them  last  when  she  stood  with  her 
father  beside  her  mother's  grave,  and  he  had  told  her,  in  low, 
loving  tones  of  that  dear  mother  in  heaven,  and  of  the  Infi- 
nite Father  who  cares  for  all.  The  recollection  came  back 
at  that  moment,  and  roused  her  benumbed  and  broken  spirit 
to  make  one  more  effort  to  escape  ;  and,  springing  away,  she 
ran  down  the  steep  and  slippery  path, — anywhere,  anywhere, 
even  to  die  in  that  black  and  frightful  forest,  so  she  might 
only  be  out  of  the  reach  of  those  cruel  men.  But,  poor  little 
thins?  her  feeble  limbs  had  not  strength  in  proportion  to  her 
resolute  soul ;  and  she  had  gone  but  a  few  rods,  when  a  rough 
hand  grasped  her  dress,  and  shook  her  with  such  force  that 
the  fastenings  parted  behind,  and  one  sleeve  was  torn  entirely 
away. 

"  Take  that,  and  that ! "  said  Bill,  violently  striking  her 
bare  shoulders.  "  And  hark,  now,  you  little  fool !  if  you  're 
up  to  any  o'  these  tricks,  I  '11  come  nigh  to  kill  you  !  Shut 
up,  now ;  don't  yell  — it  '11  be  worse  for  ye  it  /  u  do."  But, 
regardless  of  these  threats,  and  thinking  some  one  passing 
in  the  road  beneath  might  hear  her,  the  courageous  cLild 
continued  to  scream  loudly ;  and  it  was  only  by  muffling  ner 
again  in  the  scarf,  and  carrying  her  nearly  all  the  way  in  hia 
a^ms,  that  the  man  was  able  to  stifle  her  cries  and  force  her 


IDA     MAY.  35 

up  the  steep  path.  At  length,  about  half  way  up  the  moun 
tain,  they  carae  out  on  a  level  space  in  front  of  a  steep  rocky 
cliff,  more  open  to  the  light  than  the  path  had  been,  but  still 
so  surrounded  with  trees  as  to  be  hidden  from  the  view  of 
travellers  in  the  road  below.  Here,  before  the  door  of  an 
old  log  hut,  sat  an  aged  negro  woman  smoking. 

This  woman,  whose  name  was  Chloe,  had  been  through 
many  of  the  rough  passages  of  life.  Her  mother,  a  .beautiful 
colored  girl,  with  eyes  full  of  passion  and  a  heart  of  fire,  had 
been  kept  as  the  mistress,  and  treated  as  the  wife  of  her  mas- 
ter, a  planter  in  South  Carolina,  who  was  really  very  fond  of 
her,  and  would  gladly  have  made  her  free.  But  the  laws  of 
the  State  rendered  that  impossible,  unless  she  was  sent  out  of 
its  borders,  and,  as  she  was  extremely  attached  to  him,  it  was 
hard  for  both  of  them  to  separate ;  and  so  the  matter  was 
delayed  from  time  to  time,  until  Death,  that  worst  foe  of  the 
happy  slave,  suddenly  came,  and  left  her  worse  than  a  widow, 
and  her  children  more  than  fatherless.  Chloe,  the  eldest 
child,  was  old  enough  to  appreciate  fully  the  miserable  change 
in  their  condition,  and  to  participate  in  her  mother's  grief, 
when  the  property  was  divided  among  several  heirs,  and  they 
were  compelled  to  give  up  various  articles  of  valuable  jewelry 
and  dress,  the  gifts  —  now  doubly  dear  —  of  their  indulgent 
benefactor,  and  sent  away  from  the  home  where  they  had  been 
so  happy,  to  live  as  slaves  in  another  family.  In  all  the 
reverses  of  fortune  throughout  the  world  there  is  none  sc 
great  as  this.  In  all  other  cases  the  sufferer  ha^  himself  left, 

—  the  slave  has  not  even 
4 


S6  1 1  A     M  A  Y  . 

Chloc  and  her  mother  were  both  of  a  bold,  imperious  dis- 
position, and  both  had  been  indulged  to  the  last  degree  by 
the  easy-tempered  man,  whose  fondness  had  '  spoiled  them, 
—  completely  spoiled  them,"  as  their  new  mistress  remarked 
on  one  occasion  to  her  friends.  "  The  mother  especially  is 
one  of  the  most  impudent  and  ungrateful  creatures  in  the 
world,  even  for  a  nigger,  —  and  we  all  know  they  are  a 
thankless  set  enough.  She  made  such  a  fuss  about  having 
her  family  separated,  that  we  took  a  good  deal  of  pains  to 
keep  them  together,  and  she  has  never  seemed  to  be  the  least 
in  the  world  grateful  for  it.  She  will  beat  her  children  her- 
self, if  they  trouble  her,  but  if  one  of  as  touch  them,  she 
makes  a  terrible  time." 

And  so,  indeed,  it  was ;  and  a  hard  time  nad  both  mistress 
and  servant  to  live  along  together.  Elsie  had  so  long  had 
her  time  at  her  own  disposal,  and  lived  in  luxury  and  ease, 
that  the  plain  dress  in  which  she  was  now  clothed,  the  bare 
walls  and  scanty  furniture  of  her  mean  dwelling,  and  the 
menial  service  required  of  her  in  her  new  position,  were  hard 
to  be  borne,  and  added  to  the  poignancy  of  grief  with  which 
she  mourned  for  the  dead.  That  very  grief  became  a  source 
of  contention ;  for  her  mistress,  having  been  always  accus- 
tomed to  regard  the  negroes  as  not  having  feelings  and  rights 
in  common  with  the  white  race,  insisted  that  it  was  sullenno^s, 
and  not  sorrow,  that  made  her  sad,  and  sternly  forbade  her  tc 
mention  her  master's  name  in  her  presence  ;  telling  her  she 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  the  connection  instead  of  making  a 
parade  of  it,  and  loading  her  with  opprobrious  epithets,  when 


IDA    MAY.  3V 

she  dared  call  herself  his  wife.  Judge  not  Mrs.  Gorham  too 
harshly ;  her  words  were  but  the  effect  of  her  education,  and 
she  did  not  know  she  was  cruel.  It  is  not  the  least  evil  of 
slavery,  that  it  checks  and  renders  impossible  the  kindly  flow 
of  woman's  sympathies  towards  the  suffering  and  degraded 
Neither  was  Mrs.  Gorham  naturally  a  bad-tempered  woman  , 
but  she  had  a  desire  for  neatness  and  thrift,  and  the  effort  to 
attain  these  in  a  household  of  idle  and  careless  servants,  who 
had  no  ambition  to  excel,  and  evaded  their  work  in  every 
possible  manner,  had  gradually  worn  out  her  patience.  She 
could  seldom  bring  herself  to  have  them  whipped,  however 
much  they  exasperated  her ;  but  she  never  praised,  and  she 
often  scolded  them  from  morning  till  night.  This  was  annoy- 
ing even  to  those  who,  having  grown  up  with  her,  were  accus- 
tomed to  it,  and  to  the  high-spirited  Elsie  it  was  almost 
intolerable,  and  often  provoked  insolent  replies.  Then,  too, 
this  slave-mother  had  been  encouraged  to  believe  that  she 
nad  a  right  to  her  own  children^  and  she  found  it  very  hard 
to  be  silent  when  her  plans  for  them  were  frustrated,  or 
when  she  saw  them  always  blamed  for  any  childish  quarrel 
that  occurred,  and  obliged  to  yield  their  rights  and  wishes  to 
the  caprice  of  their  young  masters.  'The  young  olive- 
branches  that  were  growing  up  in  this  house  were  no  more 
crabbed  or  crooked  than  others  of  their  species ;  but,  in  a 
family  of  ten  girls  and  boys,  there  is  always  more  or  less  of 
human  nature,  and  the  apparent  equality  between  the  black 
and  white  children  that  played  together  in  the  yard,  only 
naade  more  galling  the  real  superiority  that  was  continually 


38  IDA     MAY. 

assumed  by  the  latter.  Poor  Chloe,  «vho  never  forgot  her 
father,  and  was  proud  to  be  his  child,  was  continually  rebel- 
ling against  the  authority  of  her  little  companions ;  and  many 
were  the  occasions  on  which  her  mistress  found  it  necessary 
to  interfere,  and  by  taunting  words,  or  by  blows,  to  remind 
her  that,  after  all,  she  was  "  nothing  but  a  nigger,"  and  must 
learn  her  place. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  times,  when  the  child  had  gone  cry- 
ing to  her  mother,  that  Mr.  Gorham  overheard  Elsie  break  out 
into  a  perfect  torrent  of  insolent  reproach,  and  actually  by 
force  prevent  the  punishment  that  his  wife  was  about  to  ad- 
minister because  Chloe  had  struck  one  of  the  children. 
Stepping  forward  to  the  group,  who  were  gathered  near  the 
door  of  Elsie's  room,  in  the  yard,  he  said,  "  Is  this  the  way 
you  talk  to  your  mistress ;  and  you,  Mrs.  Gorham,  do  you 
allow  such  impudence  ?  It 's  enough  to  spoil  all  the  negroes 
on  the  place.  Here,  James,  Henry," — beckoning  to  his  two 
sons,  who  stood  by,  —  "  bring  that  girl  here." 

This  command  being  obeyed  without  difficulty,  for  th; 
whole  party  were  struck  with  a  sudden  panic,  "  Now,"  he 
added,  "boys,  you  hold  her,  while  your  mother  punishes  her  as 
much  as  she  thinks  proper." 

Mrs.  Gorham  looked  at  her  husband  appe<ilingly.  Her 
temper  had  cooled,  and  she  did  not  care  now  to  inflict  the 
blows ;  but  she  saw  that  he  was  angry,  and  she  knew  that  ii' 
she  refused  he  would  take  the  stick,  and  give  Chloe  a  severe 
whipping,  so  she  struck  a  few  times  lightly,  and  then  let  her 
go.  Mr.  Gorham  was  satisfied  with  having  established  his 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  39 

wife's  authority,  and  said  nothing  more  at  that  time ;  but 
when  he  met  Elsie  again,  in  crossing  the  yard,  he  told  her  that 
if  she  ever  used  such  language  again,  as  he  had  heard  that 
afternoon,  he  would  have  her  tied  up  and  whipped.  "  You 
dare  n't  whip  me,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  dreadful  rage  ,  "  you 
know  I  was  almost  your  brother's  wife,  and  these  are  his 
children,  your  own  nephews  and  nieces,  you  are  knocking 
round  this  way.  It  is  enough  to  make  him  rise  out  of  his 
grave  !  I  dare  you  to  whip  me !  " 

Mr.  Gorham  answered  not,  but  his  face  was  white  with 
passion  as  he  turned  away,  and  that  night  Elsie  was  sent  to 
the  city  jail  to  be  severely  flogged.  Desperate  at  this  treat- 
ment, she  embraced  the  first  opportunity  to  run  away,  was 
pursued  and  taken,  and  locked  up  again  in  jail.  "  Shall  I  give 
her  a  good  cutting-up  ?  "  said  the  jailer,  as  he  received  her. 
"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Gorham,  who  stood  by ;  "  it 's  no  use.  I 
can't  be  troubled  with  her  any  longer,  and  I  won't  have  her 
lamed,  so  as  to  spoil  the  sale  of  her.  I  '11  find  a  purchaser 
that  will  take  her  out  of  town ;  "  and,  in  pursuance  of  this 
determination,  the  next  week  Elsie  went  southward  with  a 
gang  of  slaves  for  the  sugar  plantations. 

Chloe  knew  all  this,  and,  not  seeing  the  necessity  of  the 
case,  or  understanding  how  much  her  mother's  conduct  had 
annoyed  her  master  and  mistress,  she  persisted  in  thinking 
herself  and  her  mother  very  badly  treated,  and  became  moro 
sullen  and  ill-tempered  than  ever.  Thus  she  grew  up.  chang- 
ing masters  occasionally,  and  with  these  early  memories  rank- 
Ling  in  her  breast,  she  was  never  a  favorite  or  a  useful  ser- 


40  IDA    MAT. 

vant.  Then  came  other  troubles.  Every  one  who  has  lived 
with  the  slaves,  knows  that  deep  conjugal  affection  and 
fidelity  though  sometimes  found,  are  comparatively  rare  among 
that  class.  The  uncertainty  that  attends  their  union,  and 
their  frequent  separations,  universal  habit,  and  the  laws  of 
the  land,  all  tend  to  prevent  it.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  tha  t 
Chloe  often  felt  very  deeply  the  breaking  of  those  liaison* 
which,  at  various  times,  she  formed  in  common  with  others  of 
her  race ;  but  the  whole  energy  of  affection  in  her  fierce  na'.ure 
was  centred  on  her  children,  whom  feiie  loved  with  a  fondness 
that,  coupled  as  it  was  with  the  fear  of  losing  them,  made  life 
and  love  itself  a  torture.  When  the  last  one  was  taken  from 
her  she  fell  down  in  a  fit,  and,  from  that  moment,  no  one  ever 
saw  her  manifest  any  trace  of  the  kindlier  feelings  of  our 
nature.  Compassion  had  no  effect  upon  her,  and  harshness 
she  returned  with  a  wild  and  defiant  rage,  that  made  cruelty 
itself  draw  back  appalled. 

It  may  easily  be  supposed  that  a  servant  so  troublesome 
would  be  often  exposed  for  sale,  and  that  kind  masters  would 
hardly  care  to  purchase  her ;  and  thus,  after  a  life  of  vicissi- 
tudes, gradually  growing  sterner  and  more  terrible,  she  fell 
at  last  into  the  hands  of  a  man  who  was  connected  with  a 
gang  of  kidnappers.  It  was  necessary  to  have  some  rendez- 
vous on  the  borders  of  the  free  States,  and  she  was  found  to 
be  just  the  person  wanted  to  guard  it.  Toward  ah  of  tho 
white  race  she  displayed  a  hatred  that  might  be  called 
inhuman,  if  human  nature  had  not  often  showed  itself  capable 
of  deeds  at  whi  jh  fiends  might  blush,  and  even  towards  those 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  41 

jt"  nei   own  race,  who  were  in  happier  circumstances  than 
herself  she  was  willing  to  do  all  the  injury  in  her  power. 

By  accident  these  kidnappers  had  discovered,  upon  this 
mountain,  a  cave,  of  sufficient  size  to  suit  their  purposes ;  and, 
by  building  a  hut  directly  in  front  of  the  opening,  it  was 
effectually  concealed  from  all  eyes.  Hither  they  came  from 
the  south,  bringing  with  them  provisions  for  themselves  and 
their  horses.  Their  large  covered  wagon  was  luft  hidden 
among  the  trees  and  bushes  near  the  road,  but  tho  animals 
were  led  up  the  path,  and  driven  in  the  cave ;  and  here  also 
were  concealed  the  children  that  were  from  time  to  time  cap 
tiired,  until  a  wagon-load  had  been  collected;  and  old  Aunt 
Chloe  kept  watch  over  all.  Her  wants  were  supplied  by  her 
masters,  and  she  only  went  to  Hagerstown,  a  few  miles  dis- 
tant, with  the  willow  baskets  that  she  wove  and  exchanged 
for  the  necessaries  of  life,  so  as  to  prevent  the  suspicion  and 
inquiries  of  the  few  country  people  who  were  aware  of  her 
existence  in  this  lonely  retreat.  Her  appearance  was  per- 
fectly hideous.  Her  gray  hair  hung  in  elf  locks  over  her 
neck,  from  under  the  dirty  cotton  handkerchief  that  bound  her 
brows,  and  her  face,  tawny,  and  wrinkled,  and  seamed  with 
age,  was  stamped  with  every  bad  passion.  Her  form  was 
bent,  and  she  was  covered  with  a  short  gown  and  petticoat,  so 
dirty  and  patched,  that  it  was  difficult  to  tell  of  what  color  or 
material  the  origii  ;al  was  composed ;  and  her  hands  and  fin- 
gers, bony,  long  and  claw-like,  resembled  a  vulture's  talons 
more  than  anything  human. 

Such  was  the  being  who  now  rose  from  he-  seat  beside  the 


42  I  D  A     51  A  Y  . 

doer,  and,  taking  the  pipe  from  her  mouth,  said,  with  some 
appearance  of  curiosity,  "  Hillo !  what  dat  ?  Reckon  yer 
done  rob  de  white  hen-roost  dis  time  !  "  and  a  fiendish  expres- 
sion passed  over  her  face,  as  she  stretched  forth  her  snaky 
fingers,  and,  burying  them  in  the  child's  curly  hair,  drew  her 
towards  herself.  The  act,  and  her  frightful  appearance, 
caused  Ida  to  cry  with  pain  and  terror.  "  There  't  is  again," 
said  Bill  "  that 's  just  the  way  it 's  been  every  minute  of  the 
time  the  gal 's  been  awake,  since  we  started.  Shut  up,  there 
I  tell  yer  !  " 

"  Gosh !  what 's  de  good  o'  tellin'  her  to  shet  up  ? "  said 
Chloe.  "  Dey  allers  cries  dat  way  till  you  gets  em  broke  in. 
Crying  for  your  mammy  ? "  she  added,  addressing  the  child  : 
''  got  a  mammy,  a'n't  ye  ?  " 

".G-  no,  no ! "  "sobbed  Ida,  "  poor  mamma 's  dead,  and 
papa  's  all  alone.  0,  do  let  me  go  back  to  papa  !  " 

"  Sorry  yer  mammy 's  dead,"  said  Chloe ;  "  wish  she  warn't, 
for  I  knows  how  she  'd  feel  to  have  ye  toted  off,  —  how  she  'd 
cry  !  —  0,  would  n't  she,  though  ?  —  and  tear  her  hair,  maybe. 
How  I  'd  like  to  see  her,  would  n't  I  ?  Has  n  t  I  seed  de 
nigger  women  cry  so  when  dere  chillen  was  toted  off  to  be 
sold?  —  don't  I  'member  when  dey  took  my  darter, —  0, 
don'i  I  ?  Sorry  your  mammy  's  dead,  —  got  a  daddy,  though, 
to  feel  bad,  a'n't  ye  ?  " 

"  0,  yes.  Poor  papa  !  Do,  please,  take  me  home  again,' 
and  the  child  cried  piteously. 

'  "  Shut  up  — there,"  said  Bill,  striking  her.  "  Do  you  sup 
pose  I  '11  stand  this  yelling  much  longer ?  ' 


I  D  A    M  A  Y  .  43 

15  Gosh  !  "  interrupted  his  companion,  "  what  de  use  talkin'  ? 
— just  give  her  sommat  to  break  her  sperit ;  dat  de  way  dey 
do  de  young  nigs  when  dey  cries  for  dere  mammys.  I  'se 
hearn  'em  cry,  and  seen  'em  whipped  for  it,  many  de  time ; 
and  I  'se  hearn  heaps  o'  white  buckra  say  dere  nothin'  like  a 
good  breakin'-in,  to  save  trouble  aterwards.  Dat's  what 
does  it,  —  breaks  dere  sperit  and  learns  'em  dere  place." 

"  Zounds  !  I  declare,  I  believe  't  will  be  a  first-rate  plan," 
said  Bill,  with  an  oath,  "  and  it  may  as  well  be  done  now  as 
any  time ;  for,  blame  me,  if  the  little  jade  did  n't  try  to  get 
away,  comin'  up  the  hill,  and  I  'm  tired  of  hearing  her  yell ; " 
and,  as  he  spoke,  he  cut  from  the  tree  beside  him  a  long  rod, 
which  he  stripped  of  its  leaves  and  swayed  in  the  air  to  prove 
its  strength.  "  Come  here,"  he  added,  seizing  Ida  by  one 
arm  ;  "  I  '11  learn  ye  to  mind." 

But  the  woman  interposed.  "  Let  me,"  she  said,  "  O,  do ! 
that 's  a  nice  feller,  —  ye  don't  know  the  good  't  '11  do  me. 
Don't  I  'member  when  de  white  man  flog  my  darter,  my  little 
girl,  dat  cried  'cause  she  was  sold  off  from  me,  and  dey 
whipped  us  both  till  de  blood  run  down,  to  make  her  let  go 
my  gown'  ?  —  0,  do  let  me  do  it,  now,  —  do  !  Ye  don't  know 
the  good  it  do  me,  just  to  think  of  it !  " 

"  Take  it,  then ;  but  mind  yourself  what  you  do,"  said  Bill, 
throwing  down  the  rod  and  releasing  his  hold  of  the  child. 

"  0,  don't  whip  me,  don't !  "  cried  Ida ;  "  I  '11  be  good,  I 
won't  cry  !  0,  don't  whip  me  !  " 

"  I  wants  ye  to  cry,  —  I  likes  to  hear  ye,  —  it 's  moosic," 
said  the  hag,  pausing  with  the  rod  uplifted,  to  enjoy  her 


44  I  D  A     M  A  Y  . 

agony  of  terror.  "  Cry  now,  —  cry  loud !  "  and,  as  she  spoke 
the  rod  descended  on  the  bare,  delicate  shoulders.  "  Cry,  ye 
white  wolf-cub  !  cry,  ye  white  bear-whelp !  scream,  ye  little 
rattle-snake !  —  I  likes  to  hear  ye,  —  cry  away,  —  I  '11  make 
ye  pay  for  the  blood  of  my  child,  where  the  whips  cut  her  !  " 
And  fast  and  heavily  fell  the  blows  on  the  arms  and  shoulders 
of  the  victim,  covering  them  with  blue,  livid  marks  ;  till  sud- 
denly, the  shrieks  of  the  child  stopped,  her  struggles  ceased, 
and  she  fell  down  at  the  feet  of  her  tormentor. 

All  this  had  passed  in  a  minute,  and  Bill,  who  had  stood 
by,  half-amused  and  half-shocked  at  this  burst  of  demoniac 
fury,  now  sprang  forward,  with  an  oath,  and  raised  the  child. 
"  You  've  killed  her,  you  she-devil,  I  do  believe,"  said  he  ; 
and,  indeed,  she  lay  in  his  arms  as  if  dead,  for  this  terrific 
ordeal  had  been  too  much  for  that  tender  frame,  so  unused 
to  suffering.  She  had  fainted.  Chloe  put  both  hands  into  a 
pail  of  water,  that  stood  outside  the  door  of  her  hut,  and, 
scooping  some  up,  dashed  it  into  Ida's  face,  again  and  again, 
until  she  gasped  and  opened  her  eyes. 

"  There,  now,"  she  said,  "  she  's  come  to.  I  'se  glad  she 
a'n't  dead.  I  don't  like  ter  have  folks  die,  —  dat  's  too  good, 
de  a'n't  no  pain  in  dat,  —  I  likes  ter  have  'em  live,  and, 
moreudder,  I  wants  dis  little  brat  to  live,  so  I  can  do  it 
again.  0,  was  n't  it  jolly  to  hear  her  yell ! "  she  added, 
with  a  chuckling  laugh. 

"  No  you  don't,  old  fool ! "  said  Bill,  as  she  again  ap- 
proached with  the  rod,  as  if  about  to  carry  out  her  cruel 
desire ;  "  no  ye  don't  —  hands  off .  I  was  mad  or  I  would  n't 


I  I  A     M  A  Y  .  45 

a  let  ye  whip  her  at  first.  'T  won't  do  to  spile  property  this 
way,  or  Kelly  '11  be  in  my  hair.  Besides,  she  's  mighty  nigh 
dead,  now,  —  see  how  still  she  lays." 

"  Gosh  !  dead,  I  reckon  !  "  said  Chloe.  "  Sich  a  little 
whippin'  as  dat  kill  any  young  'un  !  I  'se  seen  'em  bear 
heap  more  'n  dat  fore  dey  faints  away,  down  in  Car'lina ;  and 
dey  don't  bring  'em  to  wid  water,  ueider,  I  makes  sure,  — 
dey  takes  somepun  stronger 'n  dat,  —  O,  a'n't  I  felt  it  ?  — 
don't  de  pickle  put  de  life  into  a  nigger,  when  he  done  had  a 
euttin'-up?'" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  brute  !  "  replied  Bill.  "  White 
children  a'n't  to  be  treated  like  niggers,  and,  any  way,  you 
never  see  nigger  children  pickled,  neither.  Hold  your  tongue." 

"  White  children  a'n't  to  be  treated  like  niggers,  a'n't  dey, 
hey  ? "  said  the  other,  with  a  grin  that  showed  her  toothless 
gums  from  ear  to  ear.  "  Mighty  sight  difference  dey  '11  be 
'tween  dat  little  brat  in  yer  arms,  and  dein  little  niggers  in 
de  cave,  when  ye  gets  'em  in  de  market." 

"  Well,  hold  yer  tongue,  any  way  ;  I  'm  sick  o'  yer  clack," 
interrupted  Bill,  "  and  go  into  the  house  and  get  my  supper, 
and  make  some  gruel  like  you  made  for  me  when  I  was  sick 
here  —  make  it  nice,  old  woman,  for  I  mean  it  shall  do  this 
little  cretur  some  good.  She  a'n't  eat  enough  to  keep  a  fly 
alive  since  we  got  her,  and,  arter  all  the  expense  we  've  been 
at,  we  can't  afford  to  have  her  die  on  our  hands." 

Chloe  reluctantly  entered  the  hut  to  obey  this  order,  mut- 
tering to  herself,  and  licking  her  flabby  lips,  like  a  hyena 
who  has  tasted  blood  and  is  driven  from  its  prey.  In  a  little 


46  I  D  A     M  A  Y  . 

while  Bill  followed,  carrying  the  child,  who  had  not  spoken 
and  hardly  showed  any  sign  of  life,  except  by  a  low,  quick 
breathing,  and  a  convulsive  shudder  that  now  and  then  passed 
over  her.  Laying  her  on  the  rude  bed,  that  stood  in  one 
corner  of  the  hut,  he  began  to  chafe  her  limbs,  and  force 
her  to  swallow  a  little  water,  for  he  was  now  seriously 
alarmed  lest  she  might  die.  "  She  'd  be  worth  a  cool  five  hun- 
dred to  us,"  he  said,  mournfully,  "  beside  being  sich  a  pretty 
little  thing,  as  makes  me  most  sorry  for  her."  Indeed,  it 
would  have  moved  a  heart  of  adamant  to  see  her,  as  she  lay 
helplessly  on  that  heap  of  dirty  rags,  with  her  long  curls  wet 
and  clinging  round  her  face,  her  eyes  wide  open  and  dim,  as 
if  a  mist  was  before  her  sight,  and  her  white  neck  and  arms 
bruised  and  disfigured  with  the  marks  of  violence.  She 
allowed  herself  with  difficulty  to  be  fed  with  the  gruel ;  but 
she  seemed  not  to  know  who  was  feeding  her,  or  be  conscious 
of  anything  that  passed  beside  her  bed,  and  no  threats  or 
entreaties  could  induce  her  to  speak,  or  to  close  her  eyes  in 
sleep. 

Wearied  out  at  length,  Bill  left  her,  and,  seating  himself 
at  the  table,  where  a  hot  corn-cake  and  a  rasher  of  bacon  were 
now  smoking,  he  consoled  himself  for  his  fatigues  and  troubles 
by  a  plentiful  repast.  When  he  had  finished,  he  stretched 
himself  before  the  fire.  "  I  wonder  if  I  '11  have  time  to  tJco 
a  nap  before  Nick  Kelly  comes,"  he  said. 

"  Ye  have  n't  once  axed  fx>r  de  little  nigs  in  de  cave,"  said 
Chloe,  with  a  grin  ;  "  don't  ye  feel  anxious  'bout  dem  dear 
jttle  creturs,  —  'praps  dey  wants  some  gruel,  too." 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  47 

"  Law,  no,"  replied  Bill ;  "  they  're  safe  enough  when 
they  're  once  in  your  claws.  A  body  might  as  well  try  to 
run  away  from  Satan  as  to  get  away  from  you,  —  no  danger 
of  the  niggers." 

" But  'praps  dey  wants  some  gruel,"  persisted  Chloe.  "Tell 
ye  what,  dey 's  tjried  for  de  mammy,  much  as  if  dey  was 
white,  and  I  'se  had  to  carry  in  dis  ting  more  'n  once,  and  I 
neber  see  but  it  hurt  nigger  flesh  just  as  quick  as  white  flesh ! " 
and,  as  she  spoke,  she  took  from  a  shelf  a  stout  cowhide,  and 
flourished  it  around. 

"Get  out,  ye  old  hag!-=-you  make  me  sick — ye  don't 
seem  to  think  o'  nothing  but  whipping,"  said  Bill,  with  an 
oath. 

"  Dat  's  cause  I  'se  seen  so  much  of  it,  —  it 's  been  beat 
into  me  !  "  replied  she.  "0,  gosh  !  down  on  de  sugar-plan- 
tations is  de  place ;  and  I  '11  tell  ye  what,"  she  added, 
earnestly,  "  'pears  like  I  neber  see  white  buckra,  or  white 
child,  but  I  want  to  get  'em  somewhar,  and  tie  'em.  up,  and 
gib  it  to  'em,  —  'pears  like  't  would  do  me  good,  —  'pears 
like  't  would  pay  me  for  de  blood  o'  my  darter,  when  she  was 
holdin'  on  ter  my  gown',  and  for  all  de  blood  'ut  's  been  took 
out  o'  dis  yer  old  black  carcass,  in  some,  o'  de  cuttings-up  I  'se 
got." 

"  Now,  I  declare,"  said  Bill,  raising  himself  and  leaning 
on  one  elbow,  "  I  knew  you  was  about  the  wickedest  old  hag 
that 's  managed  to  keep  out  of  the  fire  down  below,  but  I  never 
"?aw  ye  quite  equal  to  this  evening.  What 's  come  over  ye  ? " 

"  Tt  's  dat  child  —  dat  cretur,  dat 's  done  it,"  said  Chloe, 
5 


48  t  D  A     M  A  T  . 

shaking  her  cowhide  towards  the  bed.  "  1  allus  feels  so 
when  I  gets  hold  of  a  white  young  'un.  'Pears  like  it  bring 
all  my  whole  life  up  afore  me,  to  see  dese  little  waxy  tings, 
dat  's  dressed  up  and  took  sich  care  of,  as  if  dey  was  n't  de 
same  flesh  and  blood  as  niggers.  —  0,  a'n't  it  fun  to  find  dey 
feels  jest  de  same  tings  hurtin'  'em  dat  niggers  does  ? " 

"Why,  what' sets  you  on  so  against  white  folks?"  said 
Bill.  "  T  never  saw  as  you  was  treated  worse  than  other 
folks." 

"  Dat 's  de  ting,"  replied  Chloe,  eagerly ;  "  dat  do  bery 
ting.  Ef  't  was  me  alone,  I  might  tink,  as  dey  use  tell  me, 
't  was  cause  I  'se  given  up  to  Satan,  and  was  worse  'n  odder 
folks.  But  I  'se  been  in  good  many  places,  and  seen  good 
many  o'  my  peoples,  and  when  dey  's  best  off,  dey  's  no  better 
off  'n  dogs  or  horses,  dat 's  fed  and  played  wid  till  de  massa 
dies,  and  den  sold,  —  and  when  dey  's  bad  off,  de  Lord  knows 
dat 's  bad  'miff." 

"  But  the  rest  of  'em  don't  feel  so  hateful  and  go  on  so,  — 
why  need  you  ?  You  say  yourself  you  was  ugly,  and,  I  dare 
say,  deserved  all  you  got/' 

"  No  I  did  n't,  not  all"  she  replied.  "  What  right  had 
dem  ar  buckra  make  me  work  for  nothin',  and  take  my  chillen 
and  sell  'em  ?  Tell  ye  what !  —  I  'se  seen  tings  !  —  I  'se  had 
tings  to  bear!  Seven  little  picininnies  I  bung  into  dis  yei 
worle  o'  struble,  and  see  'em  kicked,  and  cuffed,  and  'bused, 
one  way  'n  odder,  till  dey  was  sold  away  from  me,  or  I  was 
sold  away  from  dem ;  and  my  heart,  'pears  like  't  were  all 
tore  and  stuck  full  o'  thorns,  till  't  last,  when  1  knew  my  last 


I  D  A     M  &.  Y  .  » 

child  was  comin',  I  goes  out  in  de  cane-brake,  —  I,  dat  luu 
de  little  unborn  baby  a  heap  site  better  'n  my  life,  and  feels 
as  if  de  child's  mouth  suckin'  at  my  breast  would  draw  away 
de  dreffle  pain  here" —  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  heart,  — 
'  I  goes  and  kneels  down  in  de  night,  and  prays  de  Lord  dat 
de  little  cretur  may  neber  draw  de  bref  of  life." 

"  You  pray ! "  said  Bill,  with  a  sneer.  "  I  reckon  the 
Lord  would  be  astonished  to  see  you  on  your  knees  now. 
You  pray,  indeed !  a  pretty  hand  you  'd  be  at  it !  Why 
did  n't  you  kill  it  yourself,  if  you  felt  so  bad  ?  —  I  've  known  'em 
do  it ! " 

"  I  could  n't"  replied  Chloe.  "  I  know  some  o'  'em  does, 
but  I  could  n't.  Ebery  time  I  took  it  in  my  arms  to  kill  it, 
pears  like  all  de  strength  goed  out  o'  me,  and  de  little  baby 
was  stronger  'n  I  was." 

"  Then  it  lived,  did  it  ? "  said  Bill.  "  The  Lord  did  n't 
hear  ye,  — 't  wan't  no  account,  your  prayer." 

"  Hear  me,  no  !  "  she  replied,  fiercely.  "  Dere  a'a't  no 
Lord,  —  dere  a'n't  nothin'  but  de  debil,  and  he  hab  it  all  his 
own  way  in  dis  yer  country.  No  fear  but  he  '11  hear  when 
anybody  call  him." 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Bill,  "  Any  way,  if  there  is  a 
devil  he  's  some  relation  o'  yourn.  What 's  the  good  o'  your 
being  so  ugly  ?  I  never  saw  a  nigger  like  you." 

"  Dey  's  all  like  me,"  interrupted  Chloe,  "  ony  dey  keeps  it 
in,  'cause  dey 's  scare  ob  de  white  folks,  and  dey  jrurtends  — 
dey  purtends  —  it 's  de  cny  way  to  get  along  easy,  is  pur- 
tendin'.  But  /  neber  could,  more  'n  a  little  while  to  onoe't.  — 


50  I  D  A     M  A  Y  . 

it  went  agin  me,  —  somepun  came  up  in  ray  throat  and  ckockea 
me  when  I  tried  to  cringe,  and  be  so  mighty  'spectful,  like  de 
white  folks  wants  to  hab  dere  niggers.  I  oilers  was  imperdent. 
—  'praps  't  was  cause  I  had  too  much  o'  my  white  daddy 
in  me." 

Bill  burst  into  a  loud  laugh  at  this  last  sally,  and,  at  the 
same  moment,  the  form  of  Nick  Kelly  appeared  in  tb? 
doorway. 


CHAPTEIi    iV 

0,  pity,  God,  this  miserable  age  ! 
What  horrid  things,  how  fell,  how  buicherly, 
Erroneous,  mutinous  and  unnatural, 
Black-hearted  man  doth  daily  perpetrate  !  " 

KING  HENHY  SIXTH. 

"  THERE  seems  to  be  plenty  o'  jaw  in  here,"  said  the  new- 
comer, good-naturedly ;  "  what 's  the  row  ? " 

"  Nothin',"  said  Bill,  "  only  we  've  been  having  a  camp- 
meetin',  and  our  beloved  sister  Chloe  ',s  been  tellin'  her  ex- 
perience." 

"  That 's  it,  is  it  ?  "  replied  Kelly.  «  Well,  then,  what 's 
sister  Chloe's  experience  with  young  niggers  ?  How  are  they 
in  the  cave?" 

"  0,  dey  's  peart  enuff,"  said  she.  "  Young  'uns  will  whim- 
per little,  ye  know ;  but  dis  ole  nigger  's  de  one  to  learn  'em 
shet  up  dere  mouf." 

"  Come  on,  then,  and  let  us  look  at  'em,"  said  Kelly,  shut- 
ting and  bolting  the  door;  "  the  moon  is  set,- and  the  sooner 
we  get  started  now  the  better.  How's  the  child?"  As  ho 
ppoke  he  took  up  the  candle  and  went  to  the  bed ;  but  the 
moment  his  eye  fell  on  her  he  started,  and  exclaimed  angrily, 
5* 


t>2  IDA     MAT. 

"  Who 's  been  meddling  with  this  child  ?  What  did  yxm  beat 
her  for  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  Bill,  rising  and  coming  forward, 
"  the  little  cretur  was  so  obstropolous  comin'  up  the  hill,  that 
I  got  mad,  and  set  out  to  give  her  a  hckin',  and  Aunt  Chloe 
here  took  the  business  out  o'  my  hands,  and,  'fore  I  knowcd 
it,  she  gave  her  a  pretty  considerable  of  a  brakin'  in,  and  the 
cretur  could  n't  stand  it,  and  fainted,  or  had  a  fit,  or  somethin' 
o'  that  sort ;  and  ever  since  she  's  laid  that  way.  Do  you 
s'pose  she  's  shamming  ?  " 

"  There 's  no  sham  about  this,"  replied  Kelly,  "  and  it 's 
my  belief  you  've  nigh  about  killed  the  child.  Five  hundred 
dollars  jest  thrown  away,  'cause  you  couldn't  keep  your 
cursed  temper.  And  as  for  you,  you  old  hag,"  he  added, 
turning  to  Chloe  fiercely,  "you  deserve  a  good  cutting-up 
for  interfering  in  this  way  in  your  master's  property." 

"  Come  on,  den,"  replied  she,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders 
and  a  malicious  grin  ;  "  come  on,  —  reckon  ye  better.  Dis 
ole  hag  don't  know  enuff  to  hang  ye  both,  do  she  ?  —  ha ! 
ha!" 

"  Know  enough !  "  responded  Kelly ;  "  to  be  sure  you  do  ; 
but  what  good  will  that  do  you  ?  —  't  a'nt  law  for  a  nigger's 
oath  to  hang  a  white  man  in  this  country,  I  reckon." 

"  Come,  now,"  interrupted  Bill,  in  a  low  tone,  "  she  can  do 
us  considerable 'harm,  if  she  wouldn't  be  allowed  in  court; 
she  can  inform  about  this  young  one  here,  and  a  pretty 
hue-and-cry  that  would  bring  rcrind  our  ears.  Don't  be 
quarrelling." 


IDAMAY.  £  £)3 

Thus  reminded,  Kelly  stifled  his  anger  as  best  he  could, 
and  moved  toward  the  other  end  of  the  hut  near  the  cave. 
(Ihloe,  seeing  the  turn  things  were  taking,  followed,  saying, 
"  Sure  'miff,  what 's  de  good  o'  fightin'  ?  Dey  all  has  to  bo 
broke  in  some  time,  —  oilers,  —  and  it 's  easier  to  hab  it 
done  up  here  dan  when  you  'se  on  de  road.  Must  be  mighty 
onconvenient  den." 

"That's  true,"  replied  Kelly;  "but  it  don't  do  to  whif 
white  children  like  they  were  niggers." 

"Yes,"  responded  Bill,  "  white  folks  is  white  folks,  and 
niggers  is  niggers." 

"  Niggers  is  niggers,  is  dey  ?  "  rejoined'  Chloe.  "  I  neber 
could  see,  fur  my  part,  but  de  nigger  flesh  feels  jest  de  same 
tings  white  flesh  does.  Dem  two  little  niggers  you  toted  in 
here  last  month,  dey  was  mighty  sight  like  dat  white  young 
'un  ater  I  broke  'em  in ;  did  n't  know  but  dey  was  dead  sure 
'nuff,  dey  swine  'way  so  long." 

"  What  made  you  beat  'em  so  ?  "  asked  Kelly,  angrily. 

"  Bress  your  soul,  I  has  to,  —  has  to  make  'em  '/raid  to 
cry,  —  else  dey  'd  cry  'emselves  to  death  fur  dere  mammys. 
Allers  had  to,  else  you  could  n't  do  nothin'  with  'em,  dey  's  so 
obstropolous  to  git  away.  'Pears  like  'ta'nt  nateraFto  'em  to 
be  stolen,  — neber  is." 

By  this  time,  Kelly  had  drawn  away  some  pegs  by  which 
two  or  three  short  pieces  of  board  had  been  nailed  to  the 
logs,  apparently  for  the  purpose  of  holding  the  domestic  uten- 
sils that  were  hanging  on  them.  This  being  done,  showed 
that  the  wall,  instead  of  being  formed  simply  of  upright  lojs 


54  .,  IDAMAY. 

contained  a  \arge  door,  made  of  boards,  ingeniously  covered 
with  unbroken  semicircular  strips  of  hemlock  bark,  corre 
spending  to  the  construction  of  the  rest  of  the  building.  The 
joints  of  this  door  were  concealed  by  the  strips  of  board  that 
had  been  taken  down,  and  it  opened  directly  into  the  cave, 
which  was  spacious,  dry,  and  well  ventilated  by  a  large 
aperture  in  the  roof.  This  opening,  which  had  evidently  beea 
formed  by  the  same  stream  of  water  that  originally  hollowed 
out  the  cave,  led,  by  a  winding  subterranean  course,  nearly  to 
the  top  of  the  mountain,  where  it  had  a^small  outlet  under  a 
flat  rock  ;  and  the  sound  of  human  voices,  the  neighing  of 
horses,  the  shouts  of  laughter,  and  the  screams  of  distress 
which,  thus  mysteriously  conducted,  had  been  sometimes  heard 
around  that  spot  by  the  solitary  wood-cutter  or  huntsman,  had 
given  the  whole  vicinity  an  evil  name.  There  were  few  who 
iscended  the  mountain,  even  by  day,  without  a  thrill  of  super- 
.titious  fear,  and  not  a  man  in  all  the  country  round  would 
iave  lingered  upon  it  after  dark ;  so  that  the  unearthly  horror 
which  had  gradually  invested  the  place  was  an  additional 
shield  to  the  perpetrators  of  these  deeds  of  wickedness. 

In  one  Bide  of  the  cavern  a  few  rude,  stalls  had  been  con- 
structed, «and  here  the  three  horses  of  the  kidnappers  were 
tied,  while,  on  the  other  side,  huddled  together  on  a  heap  of 
straw,  were  six  negro  children,  who  had  been  stolen  within  a 
few  months  from  different  parts  of  the  country,  and  brought 
here  for  safe-keeping,  until  a  sufficient  number  were  collected 
to  fill  the  wagon,  and  make  it  worth  while  to  proceed  south- 
ward  with  them.  It  was  pitiable  to  see  the  condition  to 


I D  A     M  A  Y  5& 

which  thjse  children  had  been  reduced  by  their  confinement 
in  this  dark  place,  and  the  discipline  that  Chloe  had  found 
necessary  to  make  them  docile  and  fit  tlvm  for  the  condition 
of  slavery  into  which  they  were  to  be  sold.  True,  they  had 
been  fed  daily  with  wholesome  food,  and  taken  out  separately 
for  exercise,  under  the  care  of  their  jailer,  who  knew  that  her 
masters  wished  to  find  them  in  good  saleable  condition  ;  but 
being  seldom  washed,  they  were  all  more  or  less  dirty  and 
ragged,  and  in  their  faces  the  careless  gayety  of  childhood  had 
given  place  to  the  cowering  expression  of  abject  terror.  They 
had  evidently  been  well  "  broken  in,"  and  would  make  no  op- 
position to  whatever  fite  might  awiit  them. 

"  Well  now,  my  little  dears,"  said  Bill,  ironically,  as  he 
held  the  candle  close  to  their  faces,  "  a'n't  ye  tired  stayin'  in 
this  dark  place  ?  Won't  ye  like  a  little  ride  by  way  of 
variety  ?  " 

The  children  shrank  together,  as  if  for  protection,  but  made 
no  reply,  until  one  of  them  ventured  to  ask,  in  a  timid 
whisper, 

"  Will  you  take  us  home  ?  " 

"  No,  my  little  dears,"  replied  Bill,  "  could  «'t  do  that 
nohow;  't wouldn't  be  convenient  jest  now.  Besides,  we 're 
goin'  to  do  better  than  that  for  ye  ;  we  're  goin'  to  sell  ye  to 
some  nice  man,  that  '11  be  kind  enough  to  larn  ye  what  yer 
ought  to  do,  and  take  care  o'  yer  ;  and  yer  can't  think  how 
much  better  off  ye  '11  be  than  if  yer  was  to  home,  where  ye  'd 
have  no  good  master,  nor  be  nothin'  but  a  poor  devil  of  a  free 
aigger  when  ye  gof  growed  up.  Yer  can't  think  how  happy 


t>6  IDA     MAT. 

yer  '11  be.  We  be  your  real  benefactors ;  't  a'n't  many  folks 
'twould  take  the  pains  we  does,  all  for  nothin'  hardly  but 
your  good.  Yer  ought  to  be  thankful  to  us,  instead  o' 
snivellin'  t.iat  way.  But  folks  is  allers  ongrateful  in  this 
world,  especially  niggers,"  he  added,  rolling  up  his  eyes,  and 
laying  his  hand  on  the  place  where  his  heart  was  supposed  to 
be,  with  a  gesture  of  mock  humility  and  resignation.  Chloe 
laughed  aloud,  but  Kelly,  who  was  not  in  a  mirthful  mood, 
said  gruffly,  "  Come,  now,  stop  your  foolin'.  We  've  got  some 
work  to  do  to-night,  and  the  sooner  we  're  at  it,  the  better." 

"  Foolin  !  me  foolin' !  "  said  Bill ;  "  I  never  was  so  serious 
in  my  life.  I  'm  tryin'  to  enlighten  these  little  heathen,  — 
kind  of  a  missionary  preacher  like,  ye  know,  —  to  show  'em 
the  blessings  o'  slavery,  that  they've  been  growin'  up  in 
ignorance  of.  I  hearn'  a  minister  preach  about  it  once,  at 
Baltimore,  and  he  proved  it  all  right  out  o'  the  Bible, — how 
slavery  was  what  the  Lord  made  the  niggers  for,  and  how 
them  was  particular  lucky  as  was  slaves  in  this  land  o'  light 
and  liberty,  where  they  was  treated  so  much  better  'n  they 
would  be  if  they  was  in  Africa,  and  all  that.  I  can't  remem- 
ber jest  how  't  was  done,  but  I  know  he  give  it  to  the  aboli- 
tionists powerful,  for  tryin'  to  disturb  'em  when  they  was  so 
happy,  and  he  proved  out  o'  the  Bible,  too,  how  they  ought  to 
send  'em  back,  instead  o'  helpin'  'em  away." 

"  Out  of  the  Bible !  "  replied  Kelly,  who  had  been  putting 
the  harness  upon  the  horses,  in  which  occupation  he  was  now 
joined  by  his  companion.  "  Yes  it 's  enough  to  make  the 
devil  laugh  to  see  what  some  folks  will  try  to  prove  out  of  the 


I  1)  A     M  A  Y  .  67 

Bible.  If  there  is  a  God,  and  if  he  made  that  book,  as  they 
say  ts  did,  I  reckon  he  feels  mighty  nigh  used  up,  -when  he 
Bees  some  of  the  preachers  get  up  in  the  pulpit,  and  twist  and 
turn  his  words  all  sorts  of  ways,  to  prove  what  will  be  most 
for  their  own  interest  out  of  'm.  For  my  part,  I  don't 
believe  in  any  such  things  hereafter,  as  they  tell  for;  but  if 
there  is,  won't  some  of  these  confounded  humbugs  have  to 
take  it  ?  " 

"  P'rhaps  they  will,"  said  Bill,  laughing ,  "  and  p'rhaps 
some  other  folks  will  stand  a  smart  chance  o'  takin'  it,  too." 

"  Well,"  replied  Kelly,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  I  believe  I 
have  a  right  to  do  as  I  'm  a  mind  to,  and  I  do  it ;  and  if  1 
can  make  more  money  tradin'  niggers  than  any  other  way, 
I  '11  do  it,  jist  the  same  as  the  wolf  eats  the  lamb  when  he  's 
hungry ;  it 's  a  law  of  nature,  and  always  will  be,  for  the 
strong  to  prey  upon  the  weak  ;  but  I  tell  you  what,  if  I  did 
believe  those  things,  and  then  shut  my  eyes  and  served  the 
devil,  I  would  n't  try  to  cheat  myself  and  other  folks  into 
thinking  the  Ldld  would  be  fool  enough  to  believe  I  could  n  t 
open  my  eyes  if  I  wanted  to,  and  so  let  me  off  because  't  waa 
a  mistake." 

Meantime,  the  horses  were  harnessed,  and  the  two  men  pro- 
ceeded to  change  their  clothes,  assuming  suits  of  quakerish 
gray  and  broad  palm-leaf  hats.  Then,  sending  Chloe  for  a 
basin  of  water,  they  took  off  the  wigs  that  covered  their 
heads,  to  which  Kelly  added  the  black  eyebrows,  mustache 
and  whiskers,  he  had  hitherto  worn,  and  washed  their  faces 
thoroughly  with  soap,  thus  removing  from  the  skin  some  dark 


58  IDA     MAT. 

substance  that  had  colored  it,  and  showing  them  both  to  bo 
men  of  light  complexion.  Kelly  especially,  whose  hair  was 
nearly  red,  could  never  have  been  recognized  as  the  person 
whom  Bessy  had  seen  carry  away  her  beloved  charge.  He 
laughed  a  little  as  he  surveyed  the  altered  person  of  his  com- 
rade, who,  in  his  turn,  was  regarding  him.  "  I  've  worn  those 
things  so  long,"  he  said,  pointing  to  his  discarded  disguise, 
"  that  I  shall  feel  strange  without  'em.  But  come  on  ;  go 
out  with  the  horses,  and  by  the  time  you  get  'em  harnessed 
and  come  back,  I  shall  have  little  miss  ready.  As  for  the 
darkies,  they  don't  need  any  preparation." 

Bill  led  out  the  horses  through  the  hut,  first  flinging  across 
their  backs  some  sacks  containing  provisions ;  and,  as  it  was 
now  so  late  that  he  was  almost  sure  of  meeting  no  one,  he 
proceeded  fearlessly  down  the  path.  Kelly  returned  to  Ida, 
who  still  lay  on  the  bed  as  they  had  Itft  her,  and,  taking  off 
her  outer  garments,  he  cut  her  hair  close  to  her  head,  — 
those  beautiful  ringlets  that  had  been  the  pride  of  her  fond 
parents.  He  stained  her  skin  with  a  sponge,' dipped  in  some 
dark  liquid,  until  it  was  the  color  of  a  dark  mulatto,  and  then 
dressed  her  in  a  suit  of  boy's  clothing,  which  Chloe  produced 
at  his  request.  Then,  bringing  out  the  negro  children,  he  tied 
their  hands  behind  them,  fastening  their  arms  together  in  such 
a  manner  that  each  might  support  his  neighbor's  steps  while 
walking,  and,  passing  a  rope  between  each  pair,  he  gave  one 
end  to  Chloe  and  the  other  to  Bill,  who  had  now  returned, 
ind  in  this  way,  with  the  children  between  them,  they  left 


1  D  A     M  A  Y  .  5l« 

the  hut,  Kelly  following  with  the  almost  senseless  form  of  Ida 
in  his  arms. 

The  path  was  steep  and  slippery,  but  they  arrived  safelj 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  where,  in  a  little  grassy  nook,  beside 
the  road,  stood  a  large  covered-wagon  with  the  horses 
attached.  In  the  open  front  was  a  high  seat  that  served 
for  the  drivers;  and  the  children  being  placed  on  straw 
behind,  where  they  all  lay  side  by  side,  the  leather  back 
was  closely  fastened  down,  and  they  drove  rapidly  away,  leav- 
ing Chloe  to  return  to  her  hut  and  restore  things  to  their 
usual  order. 

They  continued  to  travel  all  night,  but  at  sunrise  turned 
a  little  away  from  the  road,  and  soon  reached  an  empty  barn, 
of  which  they  took  possession,  while  the  inmates  of  the 
adjoining  hut,  who  were  of  the  lowest  order  of  the  poor  whites 
of  Virginia,  cooked  their  food  for  them,  and  made  no  effort  to 
see  the  occupants  of  the  wagon.  Again  they  started  at 
nightfall,  but  the  next  morning  they  had  •  proceeded  so  far 
southward  that  there  was  not  much  fear  of  pursuit  or  need  of 
extreme  caution. 

If  there  is  anything  which  slaveholders  regard  as  a  sacred 
law  of  domestic  life,  it  is  the  precept  that  commands  us  not 
to  meddle  with  our  neighbor's  ^business.  With  the  indifferenl 
or  the  cruel,  this  results  from  a  carelessness  respecting  the 
amount  of  evil  inflicted  by  others  upon  the  helpless  and  de- 
pendent. The  kind-hearted  and  honorable,  startled  at  the 
amount  of  wrongs,  which  they  cannot  right,  that  spring  to 
meet  their  gaze  at  the  least  investigation,  shrink  back  from 
G 


00  IDA     MAT. 

the  ungracious  task ;  and,  obstinately  shutting  their  tyes  to 
all  without  their  own  household,  satisfy  themselves  with  keep- 
ing things  as  smooth  as  possible  there,  and  hug  to  their  hearts 
the  vaiii  hope  that,  because  they  strive  to  be  merciful  and  just, 
all  others  will  do  the  same.  Another  reason  is,  that  the 
negro  race,  inheriting  our  evil  human  nature,  debased  by  a 
long  course  of  servitude,  are  given  to  the  practice  of  all  sorts 
of  peccadilloes  and  crimes,  which  must  be  kept  within  due 
bounds  in  one  way  or  another  ;  and  every  occurrence  of  life 
is  looked  upon  through  such'a  different  medium,  by  the  slave 
and  the  master,  that  the  negro  often  represents  things  in  a 
manner  that  seems  to  the  white  man  wilfully  false  and  mali- 
cious. Thus,  no  one  has  any  hope  of  arriving  at  the  truth, 
or  cares  to  interfere  with  his  neighbor's  domestic  discipline ; 
and  it  is  considered  a  flagrant  breach  of  social  law  for  a  man 
to  listen  to  the  complaints  of  any  other  man's  servants,  or, 
except  in  the  most  desperate  cases,  to  make  any  inquiries 
about  rumors  that  may  reach  his  ears,  so  as  to  lead  to  the 
exposure  of  any  injustice.  The  force  of  public  opinion  upon 
this  point  is  so  strong  that  adjoining  plantations,  and  even 
adjoining  houses,  are  generally  ignorant  of  evojy  thing  that 
happens  on  a  neighbor's  premises,  except  what  the  white 
members  of  the  family  may  choose  to  tell.  Thus  it  is  that 
some  good  people  innocently  affirm,  that  in  a  long  life  among 
negroes,  they  never  knew  an  unkind  master  or  an  injured 
slave;  and  it  is  perhaps  because  the  southerners  are  so 
entirely  unaccustomed  to  questioning  or  espionage,  that  they 
arc  so  extremely  sensitive  to  any  approach  to  these  things,  oo 


IDA    MAT.  61 

tiie  part  of  their  countrymen  at  the  north,  whose  totally  dif« 
ferent  views  of  this  question  of  "  not  meddling"  they  cannot 
understand. 

Secure,  therefore,  from  all  impertinent  questioning,  Kelly 
and  his  accomplice  continued  their  way  more  openly  than 
before,  and  with  all  convenient  speed.  Sometimes  they  heard 
of  persons  who  had  been  at  taverns  before  them,  seeking  for 
a  dark-looking  man,  who  had  kidnapped  a  little  girl;  and  they 
secretly  congratulated  each  other  on  the  adroitness  with  which 
they  had  eluded  pursuit.  The  sufferings  of  the  poor  children 
during  this  time,  though  not  so  great  as  when  shut  up  in  the 
cave,  were  sufficiently  severe  to  excite  compassion.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  extreme  weariness  of  a  fatiguing  journey  of  many 
days  in  a  close  carriage,  from  which  they  could  see  nothing  to 
amuse  them,  and  their  comfortless,  cramped  position,  crowded 
together  as  they  were  on  the  straw,  and  the  weary,  despairing 
homesickness,  to  which  they  dared  not  give  vent  in  tears,  lest 
they  should  attract  the  ferocious  threat,  or  the  still  more  cruel 
lash,  they  were  all  old  enough  to  realize  that  they  were  to  be 
reduced  to  a  condition  of  which  they  had,  from  infancy 
heard  tales  of  fear  and  hatred,  and  of  which  they  had  an 
indefinite  horror. 

Happily  for  Ida,  during  all  these  dreadful  days,  she  wab 
insensible  to  the  heat  and  dust,  and  the  constrained  position 
from  which  her  companions  suffered,  and  equally  oblivious  of 
the  heart-sorrows  that  made  all  minor  evils  seem  light ;  foi 
she  knew  not  whence  she  had  been  brought,  or  whither  she 
vis  going.  If  she  felt  the  jolting  of  the  wagon,  she  mani- 


62  IDA    MAY. 

festcd  it  only  by  a  slight  movement  occasionally,  and  lay  th« 
rest  of  the  time  quiet  and  apparently  stupid,  as  she  had  been 
from  the  moment  she  sank  down  at  Chloe's  feet.  When  they 
stopped  to  rest  they  were  obliged  to  lift  her  in  and  out  of 
the  carriage,  and  feed  her  as  they  would  have  done  a  baby  ; 
and  she  never  once  spoke,  or  manifested  any  consciousness  of 
her  surroundings. 

One  day,  as  they  were  crossing  the  southern  border  of 
Virginia,  they  stopped  to  water  their  horses  at  a  small  stream 
by  the  roadside.  The  heat  and  dust  were  oppressive,  and,  for 
the  first  time  since  their  journey  commenced,  Ida  had  been 
restless,  and  seemed  to  be  suffering  pain ;  for  she  moaned  con- 
stantly, and  sometimes  screamed  violently  for  a  few  moments. 
One  of  these  paroxysms  occurred  while  the  horses  were  drink- 
ing, and  Bill,  after  looking  round  at  her,  as  she  lay  on  the 
straw  beside  the  six  weary  and  dirty  children,  said  to  his 
companion,  with  a  sorrowful  shake  of  the  head, 

"  'T  a 'n't  no  go,  Kelly,  that  ar  spec  o'  yourn.  You  might 
a  knowd  that  little  waxy  thing  could  n't  stand  all  she  'd  have 
o  take." 

"  She  'd  stood  it  well  enough  if  you  and  that  old  hag 
had  kept  your  hands  off  her,  as  I  told  you  to,"  replied  the 
other. 

"  Well,  't  was  too  bad,  I  know,  to  spile  a  cool  five  hun- 
dred ;  and  I  don't  blame  ye,  Kelly,  for  swearin'  at  me  about 
it,  for  she  would  a  brought  us  every  cent  o'  that,  from  some- 
body that  deals  in  fancy  articles.  Gracious  !  "  he  added,  in 
an  excited  manner,  "she  'd  been  worth  over  a  thousand  when 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  63 

she  growed  up,  she  was  so  darned  pretty.  But,"  continued 
he,  dropping  his  voice  with  a  sigh,  "  't  a'n't  no  go  now." 

"  No,"  replied  his  companion  ,  "  she  's  mighty  nigh  dead 
now,  and  it 's  my  belief  that,  if  she  lives,  she  '11  be  an  idiot, — 
she  '11  never  have  no  sense  again." 

"Well,  I  reckon  she  won't,"  said  Bill;  "and,  as  long  as  the 
trade  is  spoilt,  I  don't  mind  sayin'  I  'm  powerful  sorry  for 
the  little  cretur.  She  did  look  pretty  that  day,  settin'  on  the 
log  with  the  posies  in  her  hair.  I  wish  we  'd  'a  had  them 
two  little  nigs  we  went  arter,  and  then  we  should  'a  let  her 
alone." 

His  companion  made  no  reply,  but  seemed  in  deep  thought 
for  some  time.  Then  he  said, 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  Bill,  what  I  reckon  we  can  do.  I  know  a 
man  up  the  mountain,  about  twelve  miles  from  here,  that  haa 
a  small  plantation,  and  I  've  traded  some  with  him  in  these 
articles.  I  '11  make  him  buy  this  gal.  I  reckon  I  can  come  it 
over  him  to  the  tune  of  fifty  dollars ;  and,  as  it 's  mighty  sure 
she  won't  live  till  we  get  to  Wilmington,  that  is  better  than 
nothing.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  the  way  you  used  her  up,  I 
might  have  made  two  good  trades  on  her.  We  could  have 
sold  her  for  a  good  price,  and  then  gone  back  and  given 
information  where  she  was,  and  that  would  have  brought  us 
in  something  handsome.  They  '11  offer  a  good  reward  for 
news  of  her,  I  make  sure." 

"That  would  'a  been  fust  route,"  said  Bill,  deeply  impressed 
with  his  companion's  sagacity.  "I  wonder  I  hadn't  a  thought 
o  that.  Why  did  n't  you  mention  it  ?  —  you  're  allers  sr 


64  IDA     MAY 

mighty  mum,  Kelly.  P'raps  you  meant  to  hr.ve  a  little  pi/« 
vate  speculation  out  o'  that  end  o'  the  trade,  that  I  was  n't  to 
know  about,  hey  ?  " 

Kelly  laughed.  "  If  I  did,"  said  he,  "  you  've  dished  me 
completely." 

"  Couldn't  we  do  it  now,  don't  ye  s'pose  ? "  asked  Bill. 

"  No,"  replied  his  comrade ;  "  it  would  n't  pay  now  to 
run  the  risk  she's  broke  down  so.  If  they  got  her  alive 
and  well,  they  'd  be  glad  enough  to  pass  over  the  rest ;  but 
to  find  her  dead,  or  an  idiot,  is  another  matter.  There  'd  be 
too  many  questions  asked,  and  we  might  find  our  trade 
stopped.  No,  fifty  is  the  best  we  can  hope  to  get  out  o'  this 
job,  and  the  sooner  we  get  rid  of  her  the  better." 

So  saying,  he  laid  the  whip  over  his  horses,  and  in  less  than 
two  hours  they  had  turned  up  the  mountain  road  that  led  to 
the  farm  of  Mr.  James  Bell. 

After  proceeding  for  quarter  of  a  mile  along  a  rough  but 
pleasant  road,  bordered  by  noble  trees,  they  came  to  a  corn- 
field enclosed  by  one  of  those  zigzag  fences,  which  are  to  be 
found  all  over  the  States,  but  which  seem  to  have  been  chris- 
tened in  Virginia.  A  few  negroes  of  both  sexes  were  at  work 
hoeing  the  growing  corn,  whose  fresh  green  blades  waved  in  the 
faint  breeze ;  and,  seated  on  a  stump  in  an  angle  of  the  fence, 
on  the  top  rail  of  which  he  was  cracking  nuts,  was  Mr.  Bell 
himself,  talking  to  a  negro  who  stood  near.  Near  the  fence 
stood  a  horse,  with  his  bridle  caught  on  the  limb  of  a  tree 
above  him.  At  the  sound  of  the  wagon,  the  negroes  stopped 
work,  and  leaned  wearily  on  their  hoes,  to  look  on,  while  thi 


I  D  A    M  A  S  65 

overseer  and  his  master  turned  round ;  and  the  latter,  lean 
ing  over  the  fence,  recognized  an  old  acquaintance,  and 
exclaimed, 

"Why,  how  d'ye,  Mr.  Kelly,  —  how  d'ye?  Quite  a 
stranger  you  've  been,  lately,  in  these  parts.  Going  up  to  tho 
house  ?  I  'm  coming  right  along." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Kelly,  "can't  stop  now.  The  fact 
is,  I  've  come  up  to  have  a  trade  with  you.  I  've  got  a  lot  o' 
nigger  children  from  Maryland.  Don't  you  want  one  ? " 

"  Mercy  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bell,  laughing;  "carry  coals  to 
Newcastle,  but  don't  bring  any  young  niggers  here.  I  stum- 
ble over  them  at  every  step,  now." 

"  Well,"  said  Kelly,  "  they  're  good  property.  Niggers 
are  rising,  and  it 's  my  opinion  they  '11  continue  to  rise  ;  and 
it  don't  cost  much  to  raise  'em  —  so  the  young  ones  are  a  good 
investment,  especially  when  you  can  get  'em  cheap;  and 
this  one  I  want  you  to  buy,  I  '11  almost  give  away,  for  she  'a 
sick,  and  it 's  too  much  trouble  to  take  care  of  her." 

"  Sick !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bell,  again,  to  whose  mind  at 
that  moment  came  the  remembrance  of  certain  curtain  lec- 
tures upon  money  matters  ;  "  what  do  you  suppose  I  want  of 
sick  niggers  ?  " 

"  Well,  but  consider  what  a  bargain  I  offer  you.  I  make 
no  manner  of  doubt  the  child  will  soon  get  well,  if  she  's  kept 
quiet  and  nursed  up  ;  but  I  can't  have  her  taken  care  of  here 
in  the  wagon ;  so  she  '11  be  likely  to  die  if  I  keep  on  with  her, 
and  I  'm  willing  on  that  account  to  let  you  have  her  for 
almost  nothing.  You  will  have  a  chance  for  a  speculation 


56  I  D  A     M  A  Y  . 

without  any  trouble  or  risk,  and  I  shan't  lose  quite  so  much 
as  if  she  dies  on  my  hands ;  so  we  shall  both  be  benefited. 
Come,  now,  that 's  fair." 

"  It  looks  fair,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  in  a  less  decided 
tone  than  he  had  before  used.  "  Let  me  see  the  young 
one." 

"  She  was  a  mighty  handsome  cretur  before  she  took  sick," 
said  Kelly,  as  he  proceeded  to  unfasten  and  raise  the  leather 
curtain  at  the  back  of  the  carriage.  "  I  tell  you,  it  goes  to 
my  heart  to  have  to  part  with  her  this  way,  for  she  '11  sell 
for  a  thousand  dollars,  as  a  fancy  girl,  in  ten  years.  She  '11 
be  the  handsomest  gal  you  ever  saw  in  the  market." 

"  She  looks  like  it  now ! "  said  Mr.  Bell,  jeeringly,  as  his 
eye  fell  on  the  emaciated  and  squalid  form  before  him,  her 
face  crusted  with  dirt,  and  her  hair  tangled  into  a  mass  of 
knots,  and  filled  with  bits  of  the  straw  on  which  she  lay.  Her 
eyes  were  closed,  and  her  breast  heaved  with  the  short,  quick 
panting  of  her  breath. 

"  You  see,"  said  Kelly,  "  she  's  dressed  like  a  boy.  Her 
clothes  were  so  ragged,  I  put  on  these  I  happened  to  have, 
to  keep  her  from  catching  cold." 

"  Yes,  precious  good  care  you  've  taken  of  her,  no  doubt," 
replied  Mr.  Bell,  dryly.  He  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  and 
the  miserable  condition  of  the  child  so  affected  him  that  he 
felt  willing  to  pay  a  small  sum  for  the  privilege  of  placing 
her  where  she  could  have  better  care.  Added  to  this  was  the 
unacknowledged  thought  that,  if  she  did  live,  it  would  be  a 
good  bargain.  So,  as  Kelly,  who  did  not  really  believe  the 


I D  A     M  A  Y  .  67 

chili  would  live  many  hours  longer,  was  anxious  to  close  the 
trade,  after  a  very  little  chaffering  between  buyer  and  seller 
the  purchase  was  effected,  and,  after  receiving  thirty  dollars 
for  their  victim,  the  kidnappers  drove  forward  to  deliver  her 
at  the  house,  followed  by  Mr.  Bell  on  horseback. 

A  few  moments  brought  them  in  sight  of  the  family  man- 
eion,  which  was  pleasantly  situated  on  a  knoll  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  road,  to  which  a  path  led  from  the  front  door, 
bordered  with  a  hedge  of  the  daily  rose,  and  shaded  by  a  few 
trees.  At  a  little  distance  a  broad,  smooth  carriage-path  led 
by  the  end  of  the  house  to  the  stables,  which,  with  the  dwell- 
ings of  the  servants  and  the  kitchen,  formed  a  hollow  square 
behind  it.  This  carriage-road  extended  some  way  beyond 
the  stables,  and  at  its  termination  stood  a  row  of  log  huts, 
where  the  plantation  "  people  "  lived.  Around  each  of  these 
huts  was  a  small  piece  of  ground,  enclosed  with  palings,  and 
most  of  them  well  stocked  with  growing  vegetables,  which, 
with  the  hens  and  chickens  about  the  door,  gave  further  evi- 
dence of  comfort.  At  the  end  of  "  the  house,"  opposite  the 
carriage-way,  were  large  and  well-cultivated  gardens  and  an 
orchard ;  and  the  verandah  that  surrounded  the  house  was 
shaded  and  nearly  covered  with  running  roses  and  vines  of 
various  description. 

Here  sat  a  lady  reading,  while  two  children  played  near 
her.  Mrs.  James  Bell  was  of  petite  figure,  with  an  abun- 
dance of  fair  hair,  which  she  wore  in  long  ringlets  about  her 
face  ;  and  although  they  were  not  always  very  smooth,  and 
the  children  would  crush  her  muslin  dress,  and  pull  her  apron 


fi8  IDA     MAT. 

awry,  still  she  was  altogether  a  neat-looking  woman,  and  cor- 
responded in  appearance  with  the  general  air  of  thriftinesd 
and  comfort  about  the  place.  She  looked  up  from  her  book 
as  the  party  approached ;  and  the  children,  who  had  harnessed 
a  little  negro  to  a  cart,  and  were  driving  him  about  the 
piazza,  stopped  their  noisy  play  to  look  at  the  strangers.  It 
was  with  some  trepidation  that  her  husband,  having  received 
from  Kelly  the  almost  lifeless  form  of  the  little  Ida,  directed 
his  steps  to  the  place  where  his  wife  was  sitting,  —  for  the 
little  lady,  though  weak  enough  in  some  respects,  had  a  will 
strong  enough  to  have  filled  the  breast  of  Goliah,  and  inva- 
riably had  fits  when  that  will  was  thwarted,  and  thus  Mr. 
Bell  was  obliged  to  use  some  diplomacy  to  maintain  even  a 
semblance  of  authority  in  his  own  family. 

"  Now,  James  Bell,"  she  exclaimed,  in  querulous  tones, 
"  what  have  you  got  there  —  a  dead  nigger  ?  Of  all  things 
on  earth,  could  n't  you  find  some  way  to  spend  money  but  in 
buying  such  truck  as  that,  when  you  knew  my  life  is  fairly 
worried  out  of  me  now,  with  the  little  wretches  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  perhaps  I  was  foolish,"  replied  Mr.  Bell, 
laying  down  his  burden  on  the  bench ;  "  but  it  will  be  a  first- 
rate  bargain  if  she  only  lives,  and  I  thought  it  was  worth 
while  to  run  the  risk.  I  got  her  for  a  mere  song." 

"  Her  !  —  what 's  she  dressed  like  a  boy  for  ?  But  it  a'n't 
much  account  what  it  is,"  continued  Mrs.  Bell,  "  for  I  do 
believe  it 's  dying  now.  What  a  fool  you  are,  Mr.  Bell ! 
When  I  want  anything  you  always  say  you  have  no  money, 
and  here  yoM  are  throwing  it  away.  I  declare,  it 's  enough 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  69 

to  provoke  a%  saint.  I  told  you  the  last  time  I  would  not 
have  another  one  bought ;  "  and  she  burst  into  tears,  and 
showed  such  strong  symptoms  of  hysterics  that  her  husband 
hastened  to  say 

"  Well  there.,  dear,  now  don't  cry.  I  got  this  one  for 
thirty  dollars,  or  I  should  n't  have  taken  her ;  and,  if  she 
lives,  she  '11  be  worth  five  hundred  dollars  in  a  year  or  two, 
and  you  shall  have  every  cent  of  it.  Don't  cry !  Venus 
shall  take  her  to  her  quarters,  and  take  care  of  her,  and  she 
shan't  ask  you  to  go  and  see  her,  if  she 's  sick  a  month ;  so 
you  won't  have  any  trouble  with  her.  Here,  Venus !  — 
where  is  she,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  0,  she  's  near  about  here,  you  may  be  sure,  —  out  in  the 
yard  talking  with  the  rest  of  'em,  probably.  The  lazy  thing 
is  always  lounging  round  about  tea-time,  and  I  've  heard 
Moll  rattling  the  pans  for  me  to  give  out  supper  this  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  past.  If  I  'm  busy  reading,  she  's  sure  to  be 
on  hand  to  plague  me ;  and,  at  other  times,  I  might  call  an 
hour  before  she  'd  come.  Here  she  is  again,"  —  and,  sure 
enough,  at  that  moment,  a  little  dark  face  looked  out  from 
the  hall  that  ran  from  the  front  to  the  back  door  through 
the  house.  "  Please,  miss,"  he  said,  for  about  the  tenth 
time,  "  Aunt  Molsey  say,  time  to  give  out  supper." 

"  Aunt  Molsey  is  the  torment  of  my  life,  and  so  are  you," 
said  his  mistress,  as  she  rose  to  comply  with  the  summons. 
"You  go  and  find  Aunt  Venus,  and  tell  her  to  come  here , 
your  master  wants  her." 

The  little  fellofa  darted  off,  and  in  another  moment   his 


70  I  D  A     Jl  A  Y  . 

voice  was  hearc*  in  the  yard,  calling,  with  a  puolonged  drawl 
on  the  first  syllable4  "  Ho,  Venus !  ho,  Aunt  Venus  !  —  Massa 
James  want  you  on  de  front  piazza."  In  a  little  while  Venus 
appeared. 

She  was  a  dark  mulatto,  of  about  the  medium  height,  witb 
a  full  form  and  high,  square  shoulders.  From  long  practice 
in  carrying  burdens  on  her  head,  she  had  acquired  a  habit  of 
holding  it  thrown  back,  and  the  chin  slightly  elevated,  which 
gave  her  face  a  queer  expression,  half  pert  and  half  disdain 
ful.  Her  eyes  were  small,  and  her  negro  features  had  a  very 
stupid  and  morose  appearance,  except  when  she  smiled.  It  is 
strange  to  see  the  magical  effect  of  a  smile  on  a  negro  face. 
It  is  like  sunshine  breaking  suddenly  from  a  cloudy  sky  over 
a  dull  landscape,  changing  its  whole  aspect  in  a  moment.  In 
that  genial  light,  Aunt  Venus  looked  intelligent,  and  even 
showed  that  once  she  might  have  been  almost  handsome. 
But  if  the  smile  deepened  into  a  laugh,  all  the  .sombre  dig- 
nity of  her  appearance  vanished,  and  her  gums,  garnished 
with  broken  teeth,  displayed  in  a  broad  grin,  her  head  ducked 
down  between  her  shoulders,  and  the  indescribable  comical 
giggle  that  convulsed  her  whole  figure,  transformed  her  into 
something  very  much  resembling  a  baboon.  Her  dress  was 
the  scantily-cut  blue-striped  cotton  fabric  usually  worn  by  the 
slaves,  and  her  head  was  enveloped  in  an  immense  red-and- 
white  bandanna,  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear.  The  only  dis- 
play of  fancy  in  which  she  indulged  was  in  the  variety  and 
multiplicity  of  her  aprons.  In  this  she  prided  herself,  and 
four  or  six  of  different  colors  and  shapes  were  the  very  least 


IDA     MAY.  71 

allowance  with  which  she  could  be  satisfied.  All  the  pieces  of 
cloth  which  she  could  beg  or  save  were  used  in  this  way,  and 
she  was  ingenious  in  piecing  one  color  on  another,  so  as  to  eke 
out  the  little  bits  that  must  otherwise  have  been  lost. 

On  this  occasion  she  came  forward  with  her  usual  stolid 
gravity ;  but  an  expression  of  curiosity  quickly  followed,  as 
she  saw  the  drooping  little  figure  that  lay  beside  her  master's 
knee.  "  Laws  bless  us !  "  she  exclaimed,  holding  up  both 
hands,  "  what  Massa  James  done  did  now  ?  What  dat  ? " 

,"  I  bought  the  child  of  a  man  that  came  along,"  replied 
Mr.  Bell,  "  more  out  of  compassion  than  anything  else,  for  she 
was  so  sick  it  was  cruel  to  have. her  jolt  her  life  away  in  that 
eart.  Perhaps  she  may  live,  though,  if  you  take  her  in  hand. 
See  what,  you  can  do  for  her." 

Venus  took  the  child,  but  she  made  no  reply.  Sad,  and 
what,  if  they  had  found  utterance,  would  have  been  called 
impudent  thoughts  were  busy  in  her  brain.  She  pressed  Ler 
lips  firmly  together,  and  tears  rolled  slowly  down  her  cheeks 
and  fell  on  Ida's  purple  lips,  from  which  faint  moans  of  dis- 
tress wore  now  issuing, 

"Don't  cry,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  kindly;  "she'll  come  up,  I 
reckon,  if  you  take  her  home  You  've  raised  many  a  child 
as  sick  as  she  is.  Go  along  now,  —  I  have  great  faith  in 
your  nursing." 

Still  Venus  answered  not.  She  hardly  heard  his  words , 
she  hardly  thought  of  the  present,  for  the  touch  of  that  little, 
helpless  figure  that  lay  on  her  breast  had  roused  her  quick 
sympathies,  and  brought  up  a  vision  of  the  past  that  made 
her  heart  bleed  T 


CHAPTER    T. 

"  We  can  tame  oursely«B 
To  all  extremes,  and  there  is  that  in  life 
To  which  we  cling  with  most  tenacious  grasp, 
E'en  when  its  lofty  claims  are  all  reduced 
To  the  poor  common  privilege  of  breathing." 

VESPEKS  OF  PALERMO. 

IT  was  late  one  afternoon,  three  weeks  after,  when  Ida,  hav- 
ing struggled  unconsciously  with  fever  and  exhaustion,  awoke 
from  a  deep  sleep,  with  the  cool  pulses  of  a  new  life  in  her 
veins.  Her  glances  wandered  around,  and  feebly  and  by 
degrees  her  brain  received  the  impressions  they  conveyed. 
The  bed  on  which  she  lay,  covered  with  coarse  but  clean 
clothing,  was  in  one  corner  of  a  log  hut.  Around  the  walls 
were  hung  various  articles  of  dress  and  cooking  utensils,  and 
through  an  opening  at  the  further  end  she  saw  a  small  fire 
burning  in  the  clay  chimney  tha^  was  built  outside,  and 
either  from  original  misconstruction,  or  from  the  wandering 
propensity  apparently  inherent  in  southern  property,  was  now 
leaning  so  far  away  from  the  wall  to  which  it  should  have 
adhered,  that  it  was  completely  isolated  from  the  house. 
Through  a  small  window  near  her,  an  unglazed  opening,  the 
wooden  shutter  of  which  was  nearly  closed,  she  had,  a  glimpse 


I  D  A     M  A  V  .  75i 

of  the  skj,  which  was  now  filled  with  the  sultry  heats  of 
July;  and  a  sunbeam  that,  after  glinting  brightly  on  a 
branch  of  wild  rose,  which  fell  over  the  opening,  came,  softly 
and  half  subdued,  to  lighten  her  dull  eyes  and  rest  on  her 
pale  brow. 

Near  the  door  opposite  the  bed,  three  or  four  negro 
children  were  lying  on  the  sand,  or  building  houses  of  that 
frail  material ;  and  on  the  doorstep  sat  a  tall,  dark  woman, 
with  her  arms  folded,  talking  to  Venus,  who,  arrayed  in  a 
clean  gown,  and  with  more  than  her  usual  number  of  aprons, 
was  busily  mending  some  coarse  garment.  The  slight  rustling 
movement  which  Ida  made  attracted  her  attention,  and  she 
came  to  the  bed  saying, 

"  Laws  bless  the  child,  she 's  awake  !  How  d'  ye,  honey  ?  " 
Ida  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  face  bent  over  her,  but  made  no 
reply.  It  was  some  time  before  her  benumbed  brain  could 
arouse  itself  to  the  activity  of  thought  or  speech ;  and  Venus, 
sitting  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  went  on  with  her  work,  after 
giving  some  cooling  drink  to  the  invalid,  who  continued  to 
regard  her  with  an  increasing  expression  of  curiosity  and 
wonder.  At  length  she  said,  with  a  faint  voice,  "  What  is 

your  name  ?  " 

£ 
"  Benus,  honey  —  old  Aunt  Benus,  my  name,"  replied  the 

nurse. 

Again,  after  a  pause,  the  child  asked,  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 
"  Laws  bless  the  child !  "  said  the  delighted  woman,  — 
'  she'll  ge    peart  now,  mighty  soon;    she's  begun  to   ask 
questions.      Who   I  be? "she  continued,   shaking  all    over 


/4  I  D  A     M  A 


with  a  convulsive  giggle.      "  I  's  an  old  nigger-woman,  — 


ye  see 


" 


Again  there  was  a  pause,  and  the  child  looked  from  the 
dark  face  of  her  purse  to  her  own  emaciated  hands,  that  were 
now  returned  to  their  original  whiteness.  After  some  mo- 
ments of  mental  comparison,  she  said,  "  Am  I  a  nigger,  too  ?  " 

"  Dono',  honey,"  replied  Venus.  "  Dey  say  you  was,  and 
mighty  sick  one,  too.  What  be  ye  ?  Where  was  you  raised  2  " 

"  What  is  raised  ?  "  asked  the  child. 

"  Why,  where  'd  ye  grow  —  whero  ye  come  from  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  —  I  can't  remembor,"  replied  Ida;  and  her 
face  grew  anxious  and  troubled. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  her  kind  questioner,  "  you  'se  done 
talked  enough  now  ;  shet  your  eyes  and  go  to  sleep,  that  's  a 
honey  ;  "  and  the  little  patient,*weary  with  this  brief  conversa- 
tion, was  glad  to  follow  this  wise  advice,  while  Venus  resumed 
her  seat  by  the  door. 

"  Hear  de  child  axing,  '  be  I  a  nigger,'  "  said  Mary,  her 
companion,  with  a  low  laugh.  "  A'n't  it  funny  what  ques- 
tions de  chillen  will  ax?  T'  oder  day  my  little  .Fete  come 
home  and  say,  '  Maum  Molly,  why  don't  ye  neber  larn  me 
say  nothin'  like  dey  does  in  de  house,  out  o'  books  wid  pictures 
into  'em?  '  Bless  you,  Pete  (I  say),  I  dono'  nothin'  mysef—  ^ 
nothin'  but  hymns,  and  prayers,  and  sich  like.  '  Well,  den,' 
says  he,  '  larn  me  dem.'  I  could  n't  help  laughin'  to  hear  him. 
Tell  ye  what,  he  mighty  bright  little  nig  —  dat  Pete." 

"  Did  n't  you  neber  larn  him  his  prayers  afore  ?  "  said 
Venus  ;  "  what  you  been  about,  you  did  n't  ?  " 


I  D  A"   M  A  Y  .  70 

"  0,"  replied  Mary,  "  somehow  I  neber  has  time.  Dey  s 
allers  one  ting  or  'noder  to  do,  and  I  'se  so  busy,  half  de  time 
'pears  like  I  hab  to  turn  round  five  times  in  one  place." 

"  Tears  like  ye  might  find  time  if  you  jest  'deavored  to," 
said  Venus. 

"  Why,  one  ting,  dey  's  allers  so  many  round  I  'se  'shamed 
to,"  replied  Mary.  "  One  time  I  thought  I  would ;  and  so  I 
telled  'em  all  to  kneel  down  and  I  'd  larn  'em  de  Lord  prayers, 
and  dey  like  it  a  heap,  and  larn  'em  right  smart ;  and  ebery 
night  dey  tease  me,  '  Come,  ma,  larn  me  de  Lord  prayers 
'g'in.'  But  one  night  Miss  Susan,  she  come  along,  and  she 
stop  and  hear  me  larn  'em,  and  she  say,  '  Pooh !  what  you 
'bout  dere,  Mary  ?  what  you  know  'bout  de  Lord  prayers  ? 
Jest  tumble  'em  into  bed  and  come  here ;  I  want  ye  ! '  and 
den  she  laugh,  and  tells  de  cook  I  'se  gettin'  pious.  I  'clare, 
I  'se  so  'shame  I  nefrer  larn  'em  de  Lord  prayers  since,  nor 
nothin'  else." 

"  You  need  n't  been  'shame,"  replied  Venus,  indignantly. 
"  It 's  my  suspinion  't  would  n't  hurt  Miss  Susan,  nor  Mass' 
James,  neither,  to  say  dere  prayers  sometimes,  demselves. 
De  fact  is,  we  'se  an  orful  onrighteous  set  on  dis  yer  planta- 
tion,—  no  meetin',  no  prayers,  no  nothin',  but  work  and 
frolickin',  'cept  when  we  goes  to  camp-meetin'." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary,  "  dat  de  fac.  Mass'  James  say  he 
tinks  we  better  go  to  camp-meetin',  and  do  all  de  religion  up 
in  a  heap  —  dat  de  best  way  for  niggers.  Den  dey  can  spend 
Sunday  restin',  and  doin'  de  odd  jobs  round  dere  quarters 

ind  not  be  liotherin'  goin'  so  far  to  meetin'  ebery  Sunday 

7* 


76  I  D  A     M  A  r  . 

Say  dancin'  heap  better  'n  prayin',  any  time,  and  puts  de  life 
into  niggers,  and  make  de  work  go  easy  next  day." 

"  0,"  replied  Venus,  "  Mass'  James  good  massa,  but  he 
curus  'bout  dem  tings.  Dancin'  's  well  enough,  —  I  used  to 
like  it  myself  when  I  'se  young  gal.  It  makes  a  body  feel 
happy  for  little  while,  but  de  good  o'  dancin'  don't  last,  like 
de  good  o'  prayin'  does." 

"  Dat  's  what  I  tell  de  cook  when  she  laugh  at  me  'bout 
de  Lord,  prayers,"  said  Mary.  "  I  tell  her  dere  a'n't  nothin' 
so  good  as  prayin'  —  'pears  like  it  made  eberyting  go  heap 
easier.  But,  laws  !  Molsey  dono'  nothin'  'bout  it.  De  fac 
is,  she  V  in  a  orful  persition  'bout  her  soul.  She  say  she 
don't  believe  nothin'  'bout  it,  and  sich  like." 

"  She  ! "  exclaimed  Venus.  "  It 's  my  suspinion  de  less 
you  keeps  company  'long  o'  her,  de  better  you  '11  be.  I  dono' 
where  she 's  raised,  but  she  do  go  on  de  most  disgracefullest 
since  she  been  here." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Molly ;  "  she  just  'stributes  herself, 
permiscuous  like,  'mong  all  de  men  on  de  place.  I  telled 
her  t'  other  day,  de  way  she  go  on  mighty  nigh  spile  all  de 
women's  character.  But  she  only  laugh  at  me,  and  tells  me, 
'  What  de  good  of  a  nigger  woman  tryin'  to  be  decent  ? '  say 
she  '11  jest  drink  rum  and  do  what  she  please,  long  as  she 
live,  and  de  sooner  she  die  and  get,  put  in  de  hole,  like  a  dog, 
de  better;  and  she'll  have  all  de  fun  she  can,  'cause  davll 
be  de  end  ob  her." 

"  0,  the  poor,  impidel  woman  !  '  said  Venus.  "  'T  a'n't  nc 
wonder  she  don't  try  to  be  nothin'  if  she  b'lievee  dat.  What 


ID  A     MA  Y.  77 

has  a  nigger  got  to  keep  him  up,  if  dere  a'n'c  no  world  but 
dis  yer.  But  dere  is"  she  added,  with  -emphasis,  '  dere  is  ; 
and  when  eberyting  dat  's  been  hid  in  holes  and  corners  is 
toted  out,  and  shown  'fore  de  whole  world  at  de  judgment 
day  —  0,  won't  it  be  orful  for  de  poor  sinners  den  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  replied  Mary ;  and,  awed  by  the  solemn 
thoughts  these  simple  words  had  raised,  their  conversation 
ceased,  and  they  sat  silent  and  thoughtful. 


The  next  morning  Ida  was  better.  The  delicious  mountain 
air,  that  stirred  the  vines  as  it  came  in  at  the  little  window 
beside  her  bed,  touched  with  its  light  fingers  a  cool  brow,  and 
lips  no  longer  parched  with  fever.  Aunt  Venus,  having  given 
her  a  breakfast  of  gruel,  and  arranged  the  simple  fur- 
niture of  her  hut,  went  with  light  heart  to  "  the  house "  to 
get  her  daily  work,  for  she  was  seamstress  in  this  establish- 
ment. Soon  returning  with  a  large  bundle  of  osnaburgs,  she 
applied  herself  to  cutting  out  and  fitting,  while  Ida,  who  now 
began  to  feel  some  interest  and  curiosity,  looked  on.  "  Did 
I  always  live  here  ?  "  she  asked,  at  length. 

"  Laws,  no,  honey  !  You  'se  only  been  here  mighty  little 
while." 

"  Where  did  I  come  from  —  am  I  your  child  ?  "  she  asked, 
again. 

"  Laws,  no,  honey  !  "  replied  Venus,  giggling  at  this  ques- 
tion. "  Don't  ye  see  I  'se  an  old  black  thing,  and  you  's« 
shite  ?  " 

"  A'n't  I  a  nigger,  then  ? "  persisted  Ida 


78  I  DA     MA  Y. 

"  Dono'  'bout  dat,"  replied  her  nurse.  "  Pears  like  you 
wasn't;  but  Mass' -James  say  you  was,  and  some  niggers  « 
white.  It's  my  suspinion,"  she  continued,  after  a  pause 
"  dat  yon  'se  kidnap." 

"  What  is  kidnap  ?  "  asked  Ida. 

"  Laws,  bless  de  child,  she  dono'  nothm' ! "  said  Venus. 
"  Why,  dey  kidnaps  'em  away  off  from  dere  mammys  and 
daddys,  and  sells  'em  to  white  folks.  I  reckon  somebody 
done  kidnap  you,  and  dat  de  way  Mass'  James  come  to  find 
you." 

"  Who  is  Mass'  James  ? "  asked  the  child. 

"  Mass'  James  —  why  he  our  massa,  your  massa  and  mine. 
He  bought  us,  so  I  s'pose  we  b'long  to  him." 

"  When  did  he  buy  me  ?  "  said  Ida. 

"0,  t'  other  day  —  don't  ye  'member  ?  You  'se  been  orful 
sick  since,  and  I  s'pose  ye  don't  though ;  but  can't  ye  'membei 
nothin',  —  where  ye  come  from,  nor  what  your  name  is  ?  " 

The  child  closed  her  eyes,  and  her  face  grew  clouded.  At 
last  she  said,  sadly,  "  No,  I  can't  remember.  It  seems  as  if 
something  dreadful  had  happened,  something  that  frightened 
me,  and  then  I  went  to  sleep,  and  when  I  woke  up  I  was 
here." 

"  Den,  honey,  'pears  like  you  'd  have  to  stay  nere,  if  you 
can't  'member  nothin'  better,"  said  Venus,  sadly ;  and,  from 
that  moment,  she  resolved  that,  if  the  child  had  really  forgot- 
ten the  past,  she  would  never  perplex  her  with  questions  that 
would  make  her  think  she  had  been  born  in  a  better  condition 
of  life.  She  knew  that  white  children  were  sometimes  bought 


I  D  A     M  A  X  .  79 

from  poor  pannts  in  the  Southern  States,  and,  though  she  sus- 
pected that  Ida  was  the  child  of  wealthy  parents,  and  had 
probably  been  stolen,  she  had  no  idea  that  this  suspicion  would 
avail  anything  with  the  white  men  who  might  call  themselves 
her  owners.  She  knew  the  lot  to  which  the  child  was  doomed 
was  a  hard  one,  even  for  those  who  had  been  born  in  it,  and 
educated  to  believe  it  the  only  one  fit  for  them,  and  she  felt 
that  it  would  be  harder  still  if  one  had  the  consciousness  of 
having  been  born  to  something  better. 

No  one  who  had  looked  on  Aunt  Venus'  inexpressive  face, 
as  she  sat  there  steadily  sewing,  would  have  imagined  her 
capable  of  the  mingled  train  of  wise  and  bitter  reflection  that 
was  passing  through  her  brain.  She  kept  her  thoughts  to 
herself,  and  few  were  aware  of  the  delicate  feelings,  the 
womanly  refinement,  and  germs  of  keen  intellect,  that  lay  hid 
beneath  that  dark  and  unpolished  exterior.  She  had  still  *a. 
little  hope  that  with  returning  strength  the  child  might  regain 
her  memory  ;  but  it  was  not  so.  The  invigorating  mountain 
air,  and  the  judicious  care  of  her  devoted  nurse,  soon  restored 
strength  and  health  to  her  system  ;  but  the  cloud  that  hid  the 
past  was  not  lifted  from  her  brain.  Only  one  trace  of  her 
former  life  she  unconsciously  retained.  From  infancy  she 
had  been  remarkable  for  her  correct  pronunciation  and  quick 
understanding  of  words,  and  she  still  continued  to  speak  a 
pure  and  refined  language,  that  attraaed  the  attention  of  all 
who  knew  her,  from  its  contrast  with  the  jargon  used  by  the 
negroes  with  whom  she  now  Associated.  But  she  was  the 
pride  and  delight  of  Aunt  Venus,  who  was  never  weary  of 


80  I  D  A     M  A  T  . 

caressing  her,  and  who  gave  her  the  nam:  dearest  to  her 
heart,  which  her  own  daughter  had  borne. 

A?  days  and  months  went  by,  she  grew  tall,  and  her  delicate 
limbs  assumed  the  rounded  contour  of  health ;  but  her  cheek 
and  lips  were  always  pale,  and  her  step  slow  and  unelastic, 
and,  though  kind  and  gentle  to  all,  she  never  joined  in  the 
careless  sports  tf  childhood,  and  rarely  spoke  to  any  one  but 
her  nurse,  unless  she  was  directly  addressed. 

"  It  is  queer  what  ails  that  child,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  one  day, 
when  Ida  left  the  room.  "  She  don't  seem  like  other  chil- 
dren, and  has  a  slow,  dreamy  manner,  as  if  she  were  asleep, 
and  yet  she  hears  quick  enough,  and  she  is  n't  stupid." 

"  Old  Molsey  say,"  replied  Rose,  a  young  mulatto,  to 
whom  this  remark  was  addressed,  "  old  Molsey  say  dat  some 
body  done  conjur  de  child." 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  her  mistress ;  "  there 's  no  such  thing  as 
conjuring." 

"  0,  Miss  Susan,  how  can  you  say  dat  ? "  said  Rose. 
"1'se  known  heaps  of  folks  dat's  been  conjur,  —  0,  laws, 
yes,  heaps ! " 

"Pooh!"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  again;  "you'ie  a  fool  tf  you 
believe  that." 

"  O,  now,  miss,  dere  is  such  tings.  When  any  individule 
goes  to  hurt  anybody,  dey  takes  a  stick,  and  gets  some  old 
torn  bit  o'  dat  individule's  clothes,  and  circumwents  it  all 
round  de  stick,  and  buries  it  where  de  one  dey  hate  will 
walk  ober  it,  and  den  say  something  ober  it.  Den,  when 


DA     MAY.  bl 

Je  individule  steps  on  it,  dey  grows  sick,  and  pines  all 
away." 

"  She  don't  pine  away,  at  any  rate ;  she  grows  more 
bealthy  every  day ;  so  I  reckon  nobody  has  conjured  her," 
said  Mrs.  Bell,  as  she  took  her  work  and  went  out  to  the 
piazza. 

The  negroes,  like  all  ignorant  and  demi-civilized  people,  are 
devout  believers  in  the  powers  of  darkness,  and  have  great 
fear  of  conjurers  and  the  charm  of  an  evil  eye ;  and  it  was 
the  general  belief  on  the  plantation  that  Lizzie  White  —  as 
she  was  called  —  was  a  sufferer  from  this  malign  influence. 
Numberless  were  the  charms  which  Aunt  Venus  was  advised 
to  hang  around  the  neck  of  her  protege  to  counteract  the  mis- 
chief that  had  blighted  her ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain.  She  did 
not  seem  unhappy,  but  she  was  companionless,  and  sometimes 
would  sit  for  hours  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  her  hands 
folded  idly  in  her  lap,  and  her  whole  figure  relaxed  and 
motionless,  as  if  in  a  waking  dream,  and,  when  aroused  from 
the  trance,  she  seemed  unconscious  of  the  lapse  of  time. 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  '  Lizzy,'  over  and  over  again  that 
way  ?  "  said  the  child,  ad  she  sat  one  day  at  Venus'  feet,  in 
the  door  of  their  hut. 

The  smile  with  which  she  had  been  regarding  her  faded 
from  Venus'  lips,  and,  bowed  beneath  a  sudden  rush  of  sad 
memories,  she  let  her  work  fall  to  the  floor,  and,  covering  her 
Aace  with  her  hands,  wept  bitterly.  Ida  sprang  up,  and  put 


82  IDA     MAT. 

her  arm  around  the  old  woman's  neck.  "  Don't  cry  so,"  she 
said,  " don't,  mauma  •  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you." 

"  You  did  n't  hurt  me,  honey  ;  it  's  the  old  hurt  here,  that 
aches."  said  Venus,  pressing  her  hand  to  her  breast.  "  When 
you  looked  up  at  me  deu  so  tender,  'pears  like  I  saw  my  own 
child,  —  my  own  little  dear  child,  —  that  was  sold  away  from 
me,  when  we  was  all  toted  off  from  Florida.  0,  dear !  'pears 
like  sometimes  I  could  n't  bear  it  no  longer !  "  and  she  wept 
again,  swaying  herself  to  and  fro,  and  murmuring  in  low 
tones  amid  her  weeping  the  names  of  husband  and  children, 
that  had  long  since  become  to  her  as  the  names  of  the  dead. 
At  length  the  paroxysm  of  grief  exhausted  itself,  and  she  sat 
up  and  uncovered  her  face.  "  Don't  cry,  honey,"  she  said  to 
the  child,  down  whose  cheeks  tears  were  silently  rolling; 
"'twas n't  what  you  done  said.  It  comes  ober  me  dis  yer 
way  sometimes  all  in  a  minute,  and  'pears  like  I  couldn't 
bear  it,  noways.  Dese  last  tree  years  since  you  done  staid 
wid  me,  I  'se  been  more  comforble,  so  ye  a'n't  seen  me  so 
often,  and  I  shan't  be  so  'gain,  maybe.  I  tries  to  forget," 
she  added,  taking  up  her  work,  while  her  face  assumed  an 
expression  of  stern  despair  ;  "  't  a'n't  no  'count  cryin'.  I  'se 
a  poor  nigger  woman,  and  I  neber  shall  sec  'em  again  —  my 
young  husband  nor  my  chillen." 

"  You  told  me  you  'd  tell  me  about  'em  some  day,  but  you 
need  n't,  if  it  makes  you  cry,"  said  her  sympathizing  listener. 

"  Dono'  how  't  is,"  said  Venus;  "'pears  like  I  wanted  to 
talk  about  'em  sometimes,  and  yet  it  makes  me  cry.  0,  what 
»  gay  young  thing  I  was  when  I  livetl  'long  o'  Miss  Lizzy 


I  D  A     M  A  X  .  S'6 

lown  in  Florida !  little  I  knew  'bout  de  s  trouble  in  dis  yer 
world !  " 

"  Where  is  Florida,  and  who  is  Miss  Lizzy  ?  "  asked  Ida. 

"  0,  Miss  Lizzy  was  an  angel,  one  o'  de  Lord's  angels, 
right  out  o'  heaven.  She  was  dot  good  to  us,  poor  niggers,  we 
would  'a  laid  down  and  let  her  walk  over  us ;  we  'd  'a  died 
for  her,  we  would.  0,  I  'se  dat  happy,-  honey,"  she  added, 
dropping  her  work  again,  and  taking  Ida  on  her  knee,  "  I  'se 
dat  happy,  I  neber  'spected  what  I  'se  comin'  to.  I  had  my 
husband  and  my  chillen !  —  my  young  husband,  honey,  and 
he  so  kind,  he  never  let  me  want  for  anything,  and  he  work 
all  night  sometime,  when  he  come  in  from  hoe  de  cotton,  so  to 
fix  things  comforble  for  me  and  the  chillen  ;  and  Miss  Lizzy 
she  done  come  in  very  often,  and  read  to  me,  and  talk  'bout 
de  chillen,  —  'specially  'bout  my  little  Lizzy,  dat  I  name  for 
her;  —  used  to  think  a  heap  o'  her,  she  did." 

"  Where  is  she  now,  and  where  are  your  children  ?  "  said 
Ida. 

"  She !  0,  we  'se  all  sold  'way  off  from  her  long  ago,  and 
save  my  life  and  soul,  I  couldn't  tell  where  my  husband  and 
chillen  is  dis  day  ;  "  and  Yenus  sighed  heavily. 

"If  she  was  so  good  to  you,  I  shouldn't  think  she'd  let 
you  be  sold,"  said  Ida. 

"  0,  she  could  n't  help  it ! '  said  Venus.  "  It  was  dis  yei 
way  't  happened  :  Miss  Lizzy  done  got  married,  and  her  hus- 
band —  'pears  like  he  was  n't  quite  good  enough  for  Miss 
Lizzy, — nobody  was, — but  she  loved  him.  O,  how  she 
oved  him  !  I  'se  seen  her  eyes  shine  like  two  stars  and  her 
8 


rf4  ID  A    Id  AT. 

cheeks  flush  up  when  he  come  near  her ;  and  he  l,^e  ner,  t«  j 
and  we  have  great  times  when  de  weddin'  come  off.  0,  ny 
soul !  de  pies  and  de  cakes  and  de  good  things  dere  was  in  de 
great  house ;  and  every  poor  nigger  on  the  place  had  a  new 
suit  and  a  piece  o'  fresh  meat,  'cause  Miss  Lizzy  say  she  's  so 
happy ;  'pears  like  she  wanted  everybody  else  to  be  happy 
too.  Well,  things  goes  on  four  years  more,  and  Miss  Lizzy 
have  two  chillen,  and  den  I  sees  things  wasn't  jist  right. 
When  I  'se  settin'  sewin'  in  de  house  —  I  'se  seamstress  dere, 
honey,  same  's  I  be  here  —  I  don't  hear  Miss  Lizzy  singin' 
over  de  baby  any  more,  but  sometime  I  hear  her  talk  to 
Mass'  William  long  time  in  a  low  voice,  like  she  was  cry  in', 
and  sometime  he  gone  'way  long  time,  and  den  she  was  dot 
anxious ;  and  sometime  in  de  mornin'  I  say,  '  Miss  Lizzy,  you 
done  cried  last  night  instead  o'  sleepin','  and  den  she  'd  smile 
little,  and  say,  '  0,  no,  Benus  ! '  But  I  knew  de  strouble  was 
comin',  and  sure  'nuff,  it  come  mighty  quick.  One  day  I  goes 
in  wid  my  work,  and  I  lay  it  down  and  say,  '  Here,  Miss 
Lizzy ! '  but  she  take  no  'count  of  it,  and  'pears  like  she  did  n't 
see  me ;  but  when  I  turn  to  go  out,  she  say,  '  Stop,  Benus," 
and  when  she  turn  round,  I  see  she  was  cryin'.  Den  she  tell 
me  Mass'  William  done  loss  all  de  property ;  and  the  plan- 
tation was  sold,  and  all  de  people,  and  us  house  servants  was 
gwine  be  put  up  at  auction,  cause  de  man  dat  took  de  place 
did  n't  want  us. 

"  Den,  honey,  'pears  like  de  room  all  swim  round  and 
round,  and  I  dat  blind  I  could  n't  see  nothin',  for  my  husband 
—  he  field  hand,  —  and  if  I  'se  sold  I  lose  him.  But  Miss 


I  D  A     M  A  7  .  85 

Lizzy,  she  say,  quick  like,  '  Don't  you  be  feared,  Benus, 
you'se  allers  been  good  girl,  and  Mass;  William  gwine  look  out 
for  ye.  We  'se  loss  eberything,  but  't  a'n't  Mass'  William's 
fault,  and  you  mus  n't  blame  him  ; '  'cause,  ye  see,  I  'se  dat 
'stounded  I  'se  muttering  something  'bout  him  in  my  throat, 
and  she  knew  it,  so  she  say,  '  You  mus  n't  blame  him ;  and 
ne  :s  gwine  ask  de  new  massa,  that  Joe  (he  my  husband, 
honey)  be  sold,  too,  and  p'raps  you  be  sold  together.' 

"  Well,  dere  little  comfort  in  dat,  but  0,  dis  heart  was 
sore  when  I  go  back  to  the  chillen,  and  Joe ;  he  done  heard 
it  out  in  the  field,  and  he  come  home,  and  we  cries,  and  de 
cmllen  dey  cries  too  for  company.  0,  dat  de  dark  night  for 
us  all !  Well,  in  de  mornin'  Miss  Lizzy  come  out  in  de  yard 
where  we  all  standin'  talkin',  and  she  look  dat  pale,  and  de 
red  all  round  her  eyes,  'stead  o'  bein'  in  her  cheeks  and  lips 
where 't  ought  to  be,  and  she  speak  so  sorrowful  like,  and  say, 
she  feel  for  us,  dat  we  all  set  right  down  on  de  ground,  and 
cry  out  loud ;  and  Miss  Lizzy,  she  break  down,  and  cry,  too. 
Den  Mass'  William,  he  come  out  de  door,  and  put  his  arm 
round  her,  where  she  stood  leanin'  up  'gainst  de  piazza,  and 
lead  her  into  the  house.  Den  he  come  out  and  talk  to  us  all 
so  kind,  and  say  what  she  want  to  say  and  couldn't.  O, 
dear,  dear,  de  Lord  know  what  a  time  dat  was ! "  She 
paused  a  long  time,  and  her  sad  eyes  assumed  a  dreamy  ex- 
pression, as  if  she  was  living  over  again  that  scene  in  the 
nast. 

"  Was  your  husband  sold  with  you  ?  "  asked  Ida,  wiping 


86  I  D  A     M  A  Y  . 

with  her  delicate  hand  the  tears  that  were  slowly  dropping 
from  that  black  face. 

"  No,  honey,"  replied  Venus,  with  a  convulsive  sob  ;  "  no, 
honey.  Dey  hoped  —  Miss  Lizzy  and  Mass'  William  did  — 
clat  somehow  dere  'd  be  enough  left  when  all  was  settled  up 
lal  was  out  'gainst  de  property,  for  Miss  Lizzy  to  buy  in  Joo 
ind  de  chillen,  and  me  and  my  sister  Ann,  'cause  Miss 
Lizzy  and  Ann  and  me  was  raised  together,  most  like  we  was 
all  sisters,  and  Ann  was  de  chillen's  nurse,  and  her  husband 
die  little  while  before,  so  she  wanted  us  perticlar,  and  we  was 
kep  to  be  sold  last.  Miss  Lizzy  told  everybody  she  wanted 
to  buy  us  in,  'cause  Mass'  William  say  if  folks  knew  it,  dey 
would  n't  bid  against  him.  But  't  was  n't  no  'count. 

"  When  de  time  come,  we  'se  all  toted  off  to  de  court- 
house, and  Miss  Lizzy  so  anxious,  she  and  Mass'  William  go 
together  in  a  carriage,  all  shut  up,  and  wait  under  a  tree  just 
outside  de  crowd.  I  see  de  carriage,  and  know  dey  was  in 
it,  and  somehow  I  felt  more  comforble.  Well,  de  oder  ser- 
vants was  sold,  and  den  dey  put  Joe  and  me  and  de  chillen 
up,  and  jist  dat  minute  I  see  Mass'  William  get  out  o'  de 
carriage  and  go  speak  to  a  man.  Den  de  auctioneer  done  knock 
wid  his  hammer,  and  de  sale  begin.  Mass'  William's  man  bid 
for  de  lot,  and  for  a  minute  everybody  was  still,  and  'pears 
like  I  could  'a  screamed  for  joy,  for  I  thought  \ve  was  safe.  De 
men  all  look  to  one  'noder,  like  dey  understood  all  'bout  it, 
and  was  n't  gwine  bid,  and  we  was  jist  gwine  be  knocked  down 
to  Mass'  William,  when  somebody  spoke  up  and  offered  more. 
0,  how  I  feel !  and  de  auctioneer  look  cross  a  minute,  and 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  87 

den  Mass'  William's  man  he  bid  little  higher  Den  I  breathe 
again  ;  but  0,  de  oder  man  he  bid  up  too.  De  men  dat  was 
standin'  round  begin  to  look  at  him  and  scowl,  and  talk  low 
like,  and  den  he  steps  up  close  and  jumps  on  a  stump,  and 
say,  '  Gen'lemen,  is  dis  a  fair  sale,  or  am  it  not  ? ' 

"  Well,  den,  de  auctioneer  say,  '  Ob  course  it  fair ; '  and 
dey  is  all  quiet  a  minute,  and  den  somebody  steps  up  and 
whispers  to  de  man.  But  he  swear  and  say  out  loud,  '  I 
dono'  nothin'  'bout  dat.  I  hear  of  a  sale  o'  niggers,  and  I 
come,  and  I  see  a  lot  that  I  want  to  buy,  and  I  make  a  fair 
bid  for  'em.  I  want  to  know  if  I  have  n't  a  right  to  do  so  ? 
Certainly  I  has,  and  I  won't  give  up  my  rights  to  any  man. 
You  may  scowl  at  me,'  he  say,  '  as  much  as  you  please ;  I  can 
protect  myself  if  I 'se  interfered  with.'  And  out  he  draws  a 
pistol.  Den  dey  all  bustle  up,  and  some  turns  away,  and 
some  pulls  out  dere  pistols,  too,  and  dere  knives ;  but  just  den 
Mass'  William  stept  forward,  wid  his  face  all  so  pale,  on'y  his 
lips  trembled  a  little,  and  his  voice  sounded  pressed  down, 
like  he  was  holdin'  on  to  his  feelin's  wid  both  hands,  and  he 
say,  —  0,  I  can  hear  his  voice  dis  yer  minute,  I  'members  so 
well  what  he  said !  —  says  he,  '  Gen'lemen,  I  beg  there  may 
be  no  blood  shed  or  quarrelling  on  my  account.  I  thank  you 
for  your  sympathy  in  my  misfortunes,  but  if  any  one  chooses 
to  take  advantage  of  them,  to  distress  me  and  my  family,  of 
course  I  am  powerless,  and  the  law  must  take  its  course.' 
Oen  he  step  back,  and  stood  in  his  old  place. 

"  Well,  den,  I  thought  we  must  be  safe,  and  I  bless  dc  Lord 
for  Mass'  William.  But  'fore  I  know  it,  de  mac  on  de  stump 
8=* 


88  IDA    MAT. 

• 

began  to  :id  again,  and  Mass'  William's  man  he  stop,  and 
we  was  knocked  down  to  de  stranger.  De  men  all  turn  dere 
pack  on  him,  and  say  '  Shame ! '  but  he  came  up  to  us  as  bold 
as  brass,  and  say  he  knew  his  rights,  and  he  'd  have  'em,  and 
he  would  never  be  bullied  out  of  'em  by  anybody.  So  de 
folks  had  to  let  us  go.  Dey  could  n't  help  us,  but  dey  all  say 
dey  's  sorry  for  us,  and  for  massa  and  miss,  too.  0  dear, 
dear,  what  a  time  it  was  den  !  De  man  he  hurry  us  away, 
and  when  we  go  by  de  carriage,  de  door  open  and  Miss  Lizzy 
call  me.  I  run  up  to  her,  and  she  put  her  arms  round  my 
neck  and  kiss  me,  —  de  good  angel,  —  and  she  cry  and  say 
'pears  like  't  would  kill  her.  Den  dere  was  great  shout  when 
de  men  see  dat,  and  de  boys  begin  throwin'  pine  burrs  and 
dirt  at  our  new  massa.  Den  he  turn  round  and  draw  his 
pistol  again,  and  say  he  'd  shoot  anybody  dat  interfere  wid 
him ;  and  so  we  was  driv  away  to  de  calaboose,  and  shut 
up." 

"  0,"  said  Ida,  "  that  was  dreadful !     What  did  you  do  ? ': 

"  Do  !  "  replied  Venus,  "  we  could  n't  do  nothiri  but  jist 
Bait  down  our  grief  with  our  tears.  Nobody  could  help  us  — 
we  was  slaves  —  and  de  laws  is  fixed  so  dat  folks  dat  wants 
to,  can't  be  good  to  slaves." 

"  But  what  became  of  your  husband  and  children  ? '  asked 
Ida,  whose  flushed  cheek  and  trembling  voice  showed  how 
much  she  was  interested  in  this  recital. 

"  0  dear,  honey,  dat  was  de  worst  of  all !  De  mail  dat 
bought  us  was  a  speckerlator ;  and  he  took  us  up  to  Savannah, 
and  when  we  was  sold  dere,  we  was  n't  put  up  together.  Joe 


I D  A     M  A  Y  .  J& 

was  sold  to  ote  man,  and  de  two  oldest  chillen  and  little  Lizzy 
and  my  little  boy  Joe  to  anoder,  and  I  'se  sold  way  from  'em 
all.  0  dear,  'pears  like  it  will  kill  me  to  think  o'  dat  time  ! 
0  Lord,  help  me  !  0,  comfort  dis  old  broken  heart !  " 

The  child  wept  with  her,  but  she  could  poorly  understand 
her  feelings.  Impossible  was  it  for  her  to  know,  how  from 
out  the  buried  past  came  the  phantoms  of  husband,  children, 
all  that  had  once  lifted  her  for  a  few  short  years  out  .of  the 
dreary  coldness  and  darkness  of  her  slave  lot,  to  the  warm 
sunshine  of  happiness  and  love  ;  impossible  to  realize  how  the 
scar  of  that  old  wound  yet  throbbed  with  a  keen  pain,  even 
beneath  the  touch  of  the  gentlest  fingers. 

Suddenly  Ida  grasped  the  hands  of  her  nurse  with  a  qaiuk, 
nervous  motion.  A  new  thought  had  entered  her  brain.  In 
the  painless  and  monotonous  life  she  had  led  hitherto,  there 
was  little  to  remind  her  of  a  fact  which  at  this  moment 
recurred  to  her,  startling  her  with  a  sudden  sense  of  danger 
"  Venus,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "  tell  me,  am  I  a  slave  ? " 

Venus  looked  at  her  sadly  a  moment.  That  word  which 
the  negroes  never  use  except  in  moments  of  the  greatest  bit- 
terness, impressed  her  strangely,  corning  from  the  lips  of 
another.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  you  are  a  slave." 

"  And  must  I  be  treated  so  when  I  grow  up  ?  Can't  I  get 
away  from  it  some  how  ?  0,  tell  me,  Venus !  I  never  thought 
about  it  before  , "  and  the  child  trembled  all  over,  and  looked 
around  with  a  terrified  expression,  as  if  seeking  a  way  of 
escape. 

Venus  was  frightened  at  this  overpowering  emotion  in  one 


DO  I  D  A    M  A  Y  . 

usually  so  gentle  and  cilm  ;  and,  controlling  her  own  feelings 
by  a  violent  effort,  — '  Don't  be  frightened,"  she  said,  sooth- 
ingly.  "  1  'se  heard  white  folks  say  de  most  o'  servants  was 
happy,  so  I  s'pose  some  is ;  and  p'raps  you  may  allers  be 
treated  well.  If  I  'd  staid  with  Miss  Lizzy,  I  know  she  'd 
allers  been  good  to  me.  Any  way,  honey,  you  won't  allers 
feel  like  you  do  now  'bout  it,  —  you  '11  get  used  to  it,  —  we 
does  get  used  to  eberything.  0,  honey,  don't  be  frightened, 
p'raps  the  Lord  '11  be  good  to  ye,  and  let  you  die  while  you  're 
little,  'fore  you  come  to  any  strouble." 

Ida  made  no  reply.  She  grew  calm  and  cold  as  ice  in  all 
her  veins,  and,  sinking  at  Venus'  feet,  she  leaned  her  head 
Against  her  knees,  and  sadly  and  dreamily  she  repeated  those 
fatal  words,  "  A  slave  !  a  slave  !  " 

At  that  moment  the  sound  of  footsteps  and  voices  reached 
their  ears,  and  Venus  had  hardly  time  to  snatch  her  work 
from  the  floor,  before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bell  rode  by,  on  their 
way  to  see  one  of  the  negroes  who  was  sick  in  the  "  quarters." 
In  a  little  while  they  returned.  They  were  on  horseback,  and 
just  starting  for  their  morning  ride ;  and,  as  they  passed 
slowly,  they  looked  complacently  at  the  two  who  were  sitting 
there  together. 

"They  look  very  comfortable,"  t,aid  Mr.  Bell.  Aunt 
Venus  really  shows  some  taste  in  the  way  she  trains  those 
vines  over  her  door." 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  wife,  "  they  are  happy  enough ;  but  I 
am  sorry  Aunt  Venus  is  setting  her  heart  so  muoh  on  thai 


I  D  A    M  A  Y  .  93 

child,  for  we  shall  have  a  bad  time  when  they  come  to 
part." 

"  To  part !  "  said  Mr.  Bell,  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  was  the  reply.  "  We  shall  have  to  sei. 
Lizzy,  by  and  by,  she  is  growing  so  very  pretty.  I  believe 
you  will  make  something  on  that  speculation,  after  all  my 
laughing  at  you  so  much  for  buying  a  dead  nigger." 

"  1  don't  think  I  shall  sell  her,"  said  Mr.  Bell.  "  I  've 
altered  my  mind  about  her.  She  has  pretty  manners,  and  is 
gentle  and  quiet,  and  I  like  to  have  such  servants  about  the 
house.  When  she  gets  a  little  older,  you  can  take  her  in  to 
wait  on  the  table,  or  take  care  of  the  children." 

A  light  flashed  from  Mrs.  Bell's  blue  eyes,  and  she  rode 
her  horse  before  her  husband,  turning  so  as  completely  to  fifl 
the  narrow  path ;  and,  looking  straight  in  his  eyes,  she  set 
her  teeth  with  an  almost  fierce  expression,  as  she  said, 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing.  The  girl  will  le  too  pretty. 
I  will  have  no  more  such  scenes  as  I  had  with  Ellen ;  —  you 
remember  her  impudence.  What  I  suffered  with  that  girl 
passes  the  power  of  language.  I  '11  have  no  more  handsome 
servant  girls,  telling  me  my  husband  thinks  more  of  them 
than  he  does  of  me  !  " 

Mr.  Bell  colored  slightly  ;  and,  seizing  her  riding-whip,  he 
struck  the  horse  playfully,  and  they  went  on  again  for  a  short 
distance. 

"  Of  course,"  continued  his  wife,  when  their  pace  became 
slower,  "I  never  believed  her  insinuations;  but  they  were 
too  disagneable  even  at  that  rate.  She  was  respectful  enough 


92  IDA    MAT. 

when  you  was  b}    aid  you  never  would  believe  how  dread- 
fully impudent  she  was  sometimes.     I  never  shall  forgive  you 
for  not  having  her  whipped  that  day  before  she  was  sold 
never.     Why  would  n't  you  ?  " 

Mr.  Bell  did  not  answer,  but  his  features  assumed  an  odd 
expression,  and  he  cast  a  queer,  sidelong  glance  at  his  wife's 
face.  Then  giving  a  long,  low  whistle,  he  spurred  his  horse 
and  they  rode  rapidly  forward. 

Far  up  the  mountain,  on  the  lower  southern  slope  of  which 
lay  the  Bell  plantation,  were  the  springs  that  fed  a  rivulet 
which  came  dashing,  sparkling  and  leaping  down  its  steep, 
rocky  bed,  occasionally  spreading  out  for  a  little  space  into 
fmall  pools,  where  the  birds  came  to  drink,  and  where  the 
sunbeams,  glinting  brightly  through  green  leaves,  kissed  the 
flowers  that  mirrored  themselves  in  the  smooth  waters.  Then 
hurrying  on  again,  it  played  "hide-and-seek"  around  huge  logs, 
the  wreck  of  some  forest  tornado ;  or  piles  of  drift-wood  that 
its  own  course  had  heaped ;  or  immense  boulders,  preordained 
obstructions  flung  in  its  path  by  the  throes  and  struggles  of 
the  primeval  world.  On  it-<went,  darkling  IE  rocky  chasms,  or 
beneath  the  roots  of  trees,  and  then  flashing  out  again  to  the 
light  with  a  merry  tinkling,  like  the  silvery  laugh  of  child- 
hood ;  now  stealing  softly,  with  a  low,  musical  murmur,  over 
mossy  levels,  where  the  overhanging  branches  bent  coyly  to 
touch  its  surface,  or  interlocked  their  arms  to  form  green 
triumphal  arches  over  it,  and  then,  with  a  sudden  whirl,  and 
a  reckless  p^nge  that  changed  it  to  a  sheet  of  brilliant  foam, 


IDA    MAT.  93 

,  it  sped  onward — downward  —  till,  just  opposite  Mr.  Bell's; 
house,  it  came  out  on  the  road,  abngside  of  which  human 
hands  had  ssooped  for  it  a  channel.  Through  this  it  ran 
silently  and  swiftly,  as  if  anxious  to  perform  with  suitable 
dignity  the  office  assigned  to  it,  of  filling  a  reservoir  at  the 
junction  of  the  mountain  path  with  the  county  road,  where 
passing  travellers  might  refresh  themselves  and  their  wearj 
beasts ;  after  which,  as  if  to  escape  their  thanks,  it  hid  itself 
modestly  under  a  narrow  bridge  of  logs,  and  went  on  its  way 
to  lose  its  individuality  in  that  of  the  river  which  at  length 
received  it. 

To  this  watering-place  at  the  roadside,  one  afternoon,  at  the 
sunset  hour,  there  came  a  traveller  on  horseback.  Throwing 
the  reins  on  the  neck  of  the  animal,  that  he  might  drink,  the 
man  sat  up  and  looked  about  him.  Was  it  the  lovely  land- 
scape at  his  feet,  the  purple  light  in  the  valleys  that  changed 
to  a  golden  glory  on  the  hilltops,  the  green  mountain  side 
that  rose  above  him  embowered  in  trees,  whose  leaves  now 
thrilled  with  the  vesper  songs  of  birds  —  was  it  any  or  all  of 
these,  or  was  it  some  subtle  or  unseen  influence,  that  filled  his 
breast  with  such  a  strange  and  delicious  sense  of  repose,  and 
stilled  the  gnawing  pain  of  his  heart  ?  His  dress  was  shabby 
as  if  from  neglect,  his  tall  form  was  thin  and  bent,  and  his 
face  had  an  expression  of  peering  and  anxious  inquiry,  for  he 
was  a  vrayworn  and  miserable  man,  to  whom  there  remained 
but  one  consolation,  but  one  shield  against  the  despairing 
insanity  that  at  times  seemed  clouding  his  brain.  It  was  the 
belief  that  in  some  way,  however  incomprehensible  to  the 


94  TDA    MAY. 

weakness  of  mortal  vision,  through  the  infinite  power  of  One 
"  who  maketh  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise  Him,"  good  would 
at  last  be  evolved  from  this  fearful  evil,  —  his  own  eternal 
good,  and  the  well-being  of  one  dearer  to  him  than  life.  That 
poor  heart,  wrung  and  tortured,  had  taken  refuge  in  the  sub- 
lime mystery  of  Faith,  and  to  that  he  clung  firmly,  albeit  at 
times  with  the  frozen  and  senseless  grasp  whereby  the  ship- 
wrecked mariner  clings  to  the  spar  that  supports  him  amid 
th'e  chilling  surges  of  the  ocean  waves. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  and  spoke  aloud.  "  0  God !  " 
he  said,  "  I  thank  thee  that  even  unto  my  soul,  weary  and 
seared  with  woe,  there  come  sometimes  moments  of  peace.  I 
thank  Thee  that  sometimes  my  stern  grief  is  softened  by  the 
sweet  influences  of  nature,  and  that  the  sunshine,  which  falls 
alike  on  the  evil  and  the  good,  reminds  me  to  forgive  mine  ene- 
mies as  I  would  be  forgiven.  0,  that  this  long  search  might 
end !  O,  that  my  past  suffering  might  suffice  !  0,  that  Thou 
wouldst  give  me  back  my  child  —  my  only  one  !  —  O  God, 
my  child  !  my  child !  " 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  as  if  he  would  embrace  her,  but 
they  clasped  the  empty  air,  and  his  head  dropped  languidly 
on  his  breast.  The  horse  stopped  drinking,  and  stood  pawing 
the  ground  at  the  bottom  of  the  brook.  The  action  aroused 
bis  master  from  a  dreamy  re  very.  He  raised  his  head,  and 
saw  near  him  a  narrow  road  that  led  up  the  .nountain,  and 
its  green  shadow  seemed  to  invite  him.  Half  unconsciously 
he  turned  his  horse  towards  it,  but  he  had  gone  but  a  few 
steps  when  a  voice  in  the  road  he  had  left  cal'.ad  out, 


* 

I  D  A     11  t  Y .  95 

"  Hillo,  stranger!  you  've  mistaken  the  road.  That's  only 
a  woods  road,  and  it 's  mighty  nigh  night,  and  you  '11  stand  a 
smart  chance  o'  getting  lost  up  there  among  the  stumps." 

"  The  road  looks  pleasant,"  said  the  man  thus  addressed  ; 
"  does  nobody  live  up  here  with  whom  I  could  stay  all  night  ?  " 

"  Nobody,  as  I  know  of;  but  you  '11  find  a  good  tavern  two 
miles  below  here,"  and  the  traveller  passed  on. 

The  horseman  paused  a  moment  to  look  up  the  road,  that 
had  still  a  strange  fascination  for  him,  and  then  reluctantly 
retraced  his  steps  down  the  hill.  For  a  few  rods  he  went  on 
slowly,  and  then  there  came  over  him  again  the  gnawing  pain, 
the  feverish  restlessness,  that  had  been  for  a  little  while 
allayed,  and,  striking  spurs  into  his  horse,  he  dashed  rapidly 
along  the  way. 

0,  unhappy  father!  to  be  so  near  the  object  of  all  thy 
desires,  and  not  to  know  the  influence  that  attracted  thee ! 
0,  wretched  man  !  whose  harder  and  duller  nature  was  uncon- 
scious of  the  magnetism  that  thrilled  over  the  delicate  organ- 
ization of  thy  child,  rendered  more  impressible  by  her  mental 
disease. 

For,  at  that  hour,  Ida,  sitting  listlessly  in  her  usual  place, 
on  the  door-step  of  Aunt  Venus'  hut,  started  up  suddenly, 
her  eyes  flashing  with  a  new  light,  her  whole  frame  trembling 
with  excitement,  and  hor  heart-strings  vibrating  even  to  pain- 
fulness,  with  the  rushing  of  long  silent  emotions.  "  I  hear, 
I  hear !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  who  is  it  ?  where  are  you  ?  " 

"What 's  come  over  de  child  ?  "  said  Venus,  looking  round 
9 


96  IDA     MAT. 

^•fe..         * 


from  the  hoe-cake  she  was  mixing;  "  dere  's  nobody  calling 
honey,  as  I  hears." 

The  child  did  not  answer,  and  seemed  not  to  hear  her.     She 

stood  a  moment  with  her  head  thrown  back,  her  eyes  glisten- 

• 
ing,   and  her  hands  clasped  »nd  pressed  against  her  heart ; 

and  then,  swifter  than  a  bird,  she  flew  rather  than  ran  down 
the  mountain  road,  till  she  reached  the  high  bank  above  the 
reservoir.  Here  suddenly  the  irresistible  power  that  had 
drawn  her  along  seemed  to  desert  her.  Pausing,  she  looked 
round  a  moment  with  a  bewildered  air,  and  then,  sinking  down 
on  the  ground,  she  wept  bitterly. 

"  What  was  it,  honey  ?  "  said  Venus,  when,  an  hour  aftor 
the  child  entered  the  hut,  with  her  usual  languid  step. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "  It  seemed  as  if  somebody 
called  me, — somebody  that  I  used  to  know  in  the  time  i 
can't  remember,  before  I  came  here,  —  and  0,  for  a  minute  i 
seemed  as  if  I  SHOULD  remember ;  but  now  it  is  all  darl 
again ; "  and,  overcome  by  the  reaction  of  that  strange  ex 
citement,  she  fell  fainting  in  the  arma  that  we-e  fondly  sup 
oorting  her 


OHAPTEE    VI. 

"  Full  well  I  know 

There  is  not  one  among  you  but  hath  nursed 
Some  proud  indignant  feeling,  which  doth  make 
One  conflict  of  his  life.     What !  think  ye  Heaven 
O'erlooks  the  oppressor,  if  he  bear  awhile 

His  crested  head  on  high  1    I  tell  you,  no, 

* 
The  avenger  will  not  sleep  !  " 

"  Peace  !  peace  !  we  are  beset 
By  snares  on  every  side,  and  we  must  learn 
In  silence  and  in  patience  to  endu*e." 

VESPERS  CF  PALERMO. 

FIVE  years  Ida  spent  on  the  Bell  plantation,  and  they  were 
not,  on  the  whole,  unpleasant.  Mr.  Bell  was  a  kind-hearted 
man,  that  liked  to  see  those  around  him  comfortable  and 
happy.  He  would  never  have  allowed  cruelty  to  a  horse  or 
a  dog,  and  on  the  same  principle  he  treated  his  negroes  well. 
His  farm  was  not  very  large,  and  he  took  pleasure  in  manag- 
ing it,  and  though  obliged  to  delegate  some  authority  to  one 
or  two  servants,  in  whom  he  could  truit,  he  retained  a  general 
supervision  of  its  affairs,  and  was  careful  that  his  "  people  " 
had  no  greater  tasks  assigned  them  than  could  be  performed  by 
sunset ;  and  then,  if  they  were  not  too  tired  or  too  lazy,  they 


98  IDA     MAT. 

might  improve  the  remaining  hours  in  cultivating  their  own 
little  gardens  or  taking  care  of  their  pigs  and  poultry.  In 
winter,  wood  was  abundant  en  the  mountain,  and,  as  some  of 
them  were  then  emp  oyed  in  cutting  and  hauling  it  to  market, 
it  was  easy  for  all  of  them  to  supply  themselves,  by  fair  or 
foul  means,  with  sufficient  to  keep  them  warm.  In  addition 
to  these  comforts,  they  were  sometimes  allowed  to  go  to 
neighboring  farms,  or  to  have  a  gathering  on  their  own,  and 
the  riotous  mirth  that  then  issued  from  the  cabin  where  they 
were  assembled,  might  have  given  occasion  for  some  of  those 
sententious  remarks  upon  the  perfect  happiness  of  the  negro, 
with  which  the  indignant  charges  of  over-zealous  people  at  the 
north  are  frequently  met. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  these  merry-makings  came  to  an  abrupt 
jonclusion,  as,  for  instance,  on  one  occasion,  when  a  party  of 
young  men,  who  were  acting  as  patrol  for  that  night,  broke 
into  the  hut  where  they  were  assembled,  and,  regardless  of 
pasfports,  aad  not  content  with  scattering  them  by  blows  and 
curses,  ~Jke  a  flock  of  frightened  deer,  tied  up  one  or  two  of  them, 
and  administered  a  whipping  so  severe  as  to  put  the  victims  on 
the  sick-list  for  several  days.  One  of  these  sufferers  happened 
to  be  a  favorite  servant  of  Mr.  Bell,  and  a  man  whom  he 
had  never  needed  to  strike  since  he  had  owned  him,  and  his 
master  was  angry  enough ;  but  nothing  could  be  done.  The 
patrol  was  a  part  of  the  system  of  government  that  could  not 
be  safely  dispensed  with ;  and  if  a  party  of  lawless  youth,  ex- 
cited by  whiskey,  and  bent  on  a  frolic,  sometimes  carried 
matters  a  little  too  far,  why,  nobody  was  hurt  but  "  the  nig- 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  99 

gers,"  and,  after  all,  it  was  better  for  them  not  to  get  into  a 
habit  of  meeting  too  often.  "  They  had  far  better  be  at 
home  resting  themselyes,  than  to  be  dancing  all  night,  and  so 
unfitting  themselves  for  labor  the  nest  day.  So  said  the 
neighbors,  with  whom  Mr.  Bell  talked  on  the  subject,  and 
thus  the  matter  ended. 

Another  source  of  enjoyment  were  the  "  camp-ineetings  " 
that  occurred  now  and  then,  and  which  many  of  the  negroes 
affected  even  more  than  dancing  parties.  To  these  dark  and 
systematically  degraded  minds,  emotion  supplies  the  place  of 
intellect,  and  anything  that  can  excite  or  arouse  them  from 
the  dreary  monotony  of  their  existence  is  eagerly  welcomed. 
What  can  do  this  so  well  and  so  untiringly  as  the  awful  mys- 
teries of  religion,  before  whose  sublime  heights  and  depths  the 
keenest  mind  shrinks  helpless  and  amazed  ?  Thas,  to  them 
these  religious  meetings,  with  their  searching  appeals,  their 
indignant  rebukes,  and  terrific  denunciations,  and  winning  in- 
vitations, heard  amid  the  darkness  of  night  or  the  stillness  of 
the  solemn  groves,  and  contrasting  so  vividly  the  bliss  of  a 
future  state  with  the  miseries  of  their  present  condition,  sup- 
plied to  their  impressible  natures  an  intoxicating  stimulus, 
which,  sometimes,  no  doubt,  enlightened  the  conscience,  and 
left  behind  a  deep  and  radical  change ;  but  which  oftener 
passed,  leaving  no  trace  save  an  indistinct  idea  of  a  futurity, 
when  all  wrongs  would  be  r-'ghted,  and.  of  a  sovereign,  some- 
where, to  whom  they  might  appeal,  with  prayers,  that,  Hke 
the  inarticulate  cries  of  animals,  may  perhaps  reach  the  ear 
if  Infinite  compassion. 
9*" 


100  IDA     MAT. 

Five  years,  as  we  have  said,  Ida  passed  on  the  Bell  plau- 
tation.  As  she  grew  older,  the  trances  that  at  first  had  given 
indication  of  a  diseased  brain,  became  less  frequent ;  but  her 
love  of  silence  and  solitude  manifested  itself  in  the  long, 
lonely  hours  she  spent  in  rambling  through  the  woods  that  sur- 
rounded her  home,  and  it  might  have  been  some  undefined 
association  with  the  past  that  made  her  delight  to  dress  her 
hair  with  flowers,  and  twine  them  into  wreaths  with  which 
she  ornamented  the  walls  of  their  hut.  Indeed,  for  a 
long  time,  the  only  interest  she  manifested  in  things  around 
her  was  shown  in  her  enthusiasm  for  these  beauteous  gifts  of 
nature,  which  she  was  never  weary  of  seeking  and  forming  into 
bouquets,  that  displayed  marvellous  taste  and  skill  in  one  so 
young.  Very  little  else  was  ever  required  of  her.  For  some 
reason,  Mrs.  Bell  did  not  seem  to  like  to  have  her  about  the 
house,  and  she  was  left  wholly  to  the  care  of  Aunt  Venus 
whose  hut  stood  a  few  rods  from  the  dwellings  of  the  other 
house  servants,  in  the  rear  of  the  garden,  and  had  an  air  of 
neatness,  and  even  of  rustic  beauty,  nestled,  as  it  was,  beneath 
the  shade  of  a  spreading  walnut-tree,  and  almost  covered  with 
gourds  and  wild  vines,  that  had  been  trained  over  its  rugged 
walls.  Here,  save  for  the  utter  want  of  all  intellectual  train- 
ing, she  was  almost  as  fondly  cherished  as  if  she  had  been  in 
her  own  home ;  for  the  simple  religious  instruction  which  she 
received  from  her  protector,  -Yas  that  "  saving  knowledge  "  of 
repentance  and  faith,  which  is  the  direct  gift  of  God  through 
the  whisperings  of  the  Divine  Spirit,  and  worth  more  than  al» 
l&e  dogmas  taught  in  the  schools.  Mr.  Bell  was  an  uncom 


IDA     MAY.  101 

moily  kind  master,  and  his  servants  had  all  the  real  neces- 
saries of  life,  —  food  and  clothing  and  fire,  —  and  the  warm 
heart  of  Venus  overflowed  to  her  little  charge  with  a  pride, 
and  a  tender  affection  that  could  hardly  have  been  exceeded. 
The  negro  nurses  are  generally  very  fond  of  the  white  chil- 
dren committed  to  their  care.  They  delight  to  dress  them 
elegantly,  and  carry  them  abroad  to  attract  the  gaze  of 
strangers,  and  will  quarrel  as  heartily  about  the  merits  of 
their  respective  charges,  as  if  their  own  children  were  the 
subjects  of  their  discussion.  What,  then,  must  have  been  the 
eager  joy  with  which  Aunt  Venus  welcomed  this  delicate  and 
beautiful  child  who  had  been,  in  some  degree,  given  to  her  as 
her  own  !  To  her  impoverished  heart  how  priceless  seemed 
tiiis  pearl,  which  the  stormy  waves  of  life  had  cast  at  her 
feet !  She  was  never  weary  of  arranging  the  shining  tresses 
that  had  now  grown  long  again,  and  hung  in  ringlets  over 
Ida's  brow  and  neck  ;  and  she  mourned  incessantly  at  being 
obliged  to  dress  her  lovely  pet  in  the  coarse  and  scanty  gar- 
ments provided  for  the  other  slave  children.  When,  occasion- 
ally, by  dint  of  selling  some  of  her  allowance  of  food,  or  by 
sacrificing  some  of  her  beloved  aprons,  or  by  various  other 
expedients,  best  known  to  herself,  she  contrived  to  obtain  from 
the  neighboring  town  a  bright  pink  or  bhr  calico  dress,  in 
which  to  array  her  idol,  her  satisfaction  knew  no  bounds. 
Some  of  her  fellow-servants  env:ed  her,  and  some  laughed  at 
her  for  thfe  self-denial  she  exercised,  to  enable  her  to  gratify 
her  pride  in  Ida's  leauty  but  it  Mattered  little  to  her.  She 
would  have  slaved  night  and  day,  she  would  have  suffered 


102  IDA     SI  AY. 

cold  and  starvation,  to  obtain  comforts  and  luxuries  for  thia 
child,  whom  she  loved  as  if  she  had  been  her  own,  and  yet 
reverenced  as  belonging  to  a  higher  race,  and  who  seemed  to 
absorb  her  thoughts  and  her  affections  in  the  place  of  all 
those  she  had  lost. 

Venus  was  profoundly  ignorant ;  she  could  neither  read  nor 
write ;  but  a  life  of  degradation  and  toil  had  not  crushed 
entirely  the  native  delicacy  of  her  soul,  and  she  could  thus 
sympathize  with  the  child's  emotions  and  thoughts,  and,  in 
come  measure,  shield  her  from  the  rude  touches  that  some- 
times shocked  the  sensibilities  of  a  nature  which  was  now 
"  Like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh." 

This  care  Ida  repaid  with  a  deep  and  exclusive  affection, 
and  she  would  have  been  happy,  but  for  the  dim,  haunting 
memories  that  came  over  her  in  dreams  and  in  her  waking 
hours,  rousing  an  undefined  pain,  as  for  something  lacking 
from  her  life,  and  for  the  stern  consciousness  of  her  present 
position,  which,  though  dimly  realized  at  first,  became  as  she 
grew  older  more  and  more  the  engrossing  topic  of  thought  and 
fear,  and  led  her  to  shun  more  entirely  those  sports  and  that 
companionship  with  her  young  masters  and  mistresses  which 
exposed  her  to  the  necessity  of  recognizing  the  relation  in 
which  she  stood  to  them.  Many  of  her  hours  were  spent  in 
wandering  among  the  forest  trees,  and  following  the  course  of 
the  mountain  streams  ;  and  from  the  day  when  she  had  been 
so  strangely  drawn  to  the  high,  tree-crowned  bank  that 
bordered  the  further  side  of  the  brook,  where  it  discharges 
itself  into  the  reservoir,  that  was  her  favorite  place  of  resort. 


IDA     MAY.  lOo 

One  afternoon,  as  she  sat  hidden  from  view  by  the  kalmia 
oushes  that  ^ew  between  two  venerable  oaks,  a  traveller  on 
horseback  came  along  the  road,  and  paused  as  he  saw  the 
watering-place,  which  was  a  clear,  shallow  pool,  of  a  few 
yards  in  diameter,  formed  partly  by  nature  and  partly  by  the 
hand  of  man.  He  was  a  frank,  fearless-looking  boy,  just  in 
that  golden  age  of  dawning  manhood,  when  the  present  is 
enjoyed  with  a  keen  zest  never  experienced  in  later  years,  and 
the  brave  heart,  untried  with  sorrow,  believes  all  things 
desirable  to  be  possible,  and  longs  to  rush  into  the  arena,  and 
mingle  in  the  tumult  of  life's  battle.  Patting  the  neck  of  his 
horse,  he  said,  as  he  turned  towards  the  brook,  "  Ah,  Dandy, 
see  there !  Don't  that  make  your  eyes  sparkle,  old  fellow  ? " 
and,  as  the  thirsty  animal  stooped  to  drink,  the  loquacious 
youth  continued  his  monologue  by  addressing  himself  to  his 
dog,  —  a  large  white  hound,  —  who,  having  already  slacked 
his  thirst,  had  improved  this  opportunity  to  lay  himself  down 
to  rest,  with  his  tongue  hanging  from  his  mouth,  and  his  great, 
black,  glossy  ears  falling  forward  over  his  eyes,  as  he  settled 
his  head  on  his  outstretched  paws,  and  prepared  to  refresh 
himself  with  a  short  nap. 

"  Tired,  are  you,  Sport  ?  "  said  his  master,  as  he  watched 
these  proceedings.  "  Don't  you  wish,  now,  you  'd  taken  my 
advice,  and  staid  at  home,  instead  of  undertaking  this  tramp ? 
I  told  you  you  'd  be  awfid  tired  before  the  journey  was  half 
over  —  don't  you  know  I  did  ?  You  thought  I  'd  let  you 
ride  behind  !  0,  Spoit,  3  ou  knew  well  enough  I  would  n't ' 
I  told  you  all  about  that  and,  if  you  did  n't  understand,  it 


104  IDA     MAT. 

was  all  your  cwn  fault.  You  should  think,  now  we  've  come 
on  so  far  that  you  can't  get  back,  I  might  wA  myself  and 
let  you  ride,  hey  ?  Is  that  what  you  mean  when  you  cock 
up  your  eye  that  way  ?  Why,  the  fact  is,  my  dear  friend,  I 
don't  believe  you  can  ride.  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  make 
any  unwarranted  assertions,  but  I  really  don't  think  you  have 
the  ability,  I  'm  afraid  you  neglected  that  branch  of  your 
education.  I  don't  believe  you  went  to  riding-school  when 
you  was  young,  —  now  did  you,  'pon  honor  ?  I  'm  afraid  you 
could  n't  carry  your  tail  gracefully  on  horseback.  If  you 
did  n't,  you  might  begin  now  —  it 's  never  too  late  to  learn. 
Is  that  it  ?  Well,  come,  then,  let 's  see  what  sort  of  a  figure 
you  would  make  on  horseback  !  "  —  and,  laughing  aloud  as  the 
comical  idea  occurred  to  him,  he  dismounted,  and,  seizing  the 
dog,  managed,  after  some  exertion,  to  hoist  him  into  the 
saddle,  and  make  him  sit  there  quietly.  Finding  resistance 
vain,  Sport,  whose  face  had  always  an  expression  of  dignity, 
that  was  continually  belied  and  contradicted  by  his  unwieldly 
form,  sat  upright  in  his  master's  place,  with  the  most  imper- 
turbable gravity,  and  submitted  to  have  the  reins  placed 
between  his  fore  paws,  and  the  boy's  cap  pulled  over  his  ears, 
out  from  under  which  his  eyes  blinked  drolly,  and  his  whole 
appearance  was  so  funny,  that  the  boy  clapped  his  hands,  and 
fairly  shouted  with  mirth.  —  "  That 's  first-rate,  Sport,"  said 
he.  "  How  do  you  like  it  ?  Why  don't  you  laugh  ?  If  you 
knew  how  queer  you  look,  you  'd  laugh.  You  a'n't  going  to 
laugh  at  trifles  ?  Don't  you  know  trifles  are  the  only  things 
«f  importance  in  this  world  ?  You  defy  me  to  make  yon 


IDA     MAY.  105 

laugh  ?  I  'li  see,  then,  if  I  can't  upset  your  gravity,"  —  and. 
as  he  spoke,  nvRruck  the  horse  lightly,  causing  him  to  give 
a  sudden  start  that  overturned  the  unpractised  equestrian, 
and  down  he  went,  with  a  great  splash,  into  the  water. 

This  feat  caused  a  fresh  burst  of  laughter  from  his  gay- 
hearted  master,  who  started,  and,  for  a  moment,  forgot  both 
dog  and  horse,  as  he  heard  his  laugh  echoed,  in  clear,  silvery 
tones,  from  among  the  trees  opposite  him.  Conscious  that  his 
frolic  with  Sport  had  hardly  been  consistent  with  the  dignity 
of  a  young  gentleman  of  his  years,  and  withal  a  collegian 
and  a  traveller,  he  doffed  his  cap  in  some  confusion,  and 
colored  not  a  little  as  his  eye  fell  on  the  face  that  was  looking 
out  at  him,  half-shyly,  from  behind  the  kalmias.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  felt  inclined  to  spring  upon  his  horse,  and  gallop 
away  from  this  unknown  spectator,  for  whose  benefit  he  had 
been  performing ;  but  a  second  glance  showed  him  that  she 
was  but  a  child,  and  a  very  lovely  child,  too ;  and,  in  another 
moment,  his  curiosity  was  so  much  aroused  to  know  why  such 
a  delicate  and  beautiful  creature  should  be  alone  in  that  soli- 
tary place,  and  habited  in  the  coarse  striped  garments  which 
form  the  livery  of  servitude,  that  he  rode  his  horse  through 
the  water  to  the  spot  where  she  was  standing.  She  retreated 
a  little  as  he  came  near ;  but  there  was  something  so  cheerful 
and  winning  in  the  boy's  fresh,  youthful  face,  that  she  felt  no 
disposition  to  fly  from  him,  as  she  usually  did  from  stranger? 

"  Come  here,  you  pretty  little  girl,"  he  said  to  her,  "  and 
give  me  some  of  those  flowers  in  your  basket.  Come,  that 's 
a  good  girl !  " 


106  IDA     MAY 

The  child  drew  nearer,  and  timidly,  at  arm^s  length,  held 
out  her  basket. 

"  0,  no  !  "  he  3aid,  "  I  don't  want  the  basket,  I  want  only 
a  small  bouquet  that  I  can  put  in  my  cap-band.  Besides,  I 
can't  hold  the  basket,  for,  you  see,  I  have  to  take  care  of  my 
horse ;  so  you  must  sit  down  here  and  select  some  of  your 
prettiest  flowers." 

Reassured  by  his  kind  voice,  Ida  seated  herself,  and  began 
with  alacrity  to  do  as  he  requested. 

"  Who  taught  you  how  to  dress  your  hair  so  prettily  with 
leaves  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Was  it  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Nobody  taught  me,"  said  Ida,  in  a  quiet,  sad  tone.  "  I 
haven't  any  mother;  I  live  with  Aunt  Venus." 

Astonished  at  her  low,  musical  voice,  and  her  correct  lan- 
guage, the  boy  asked  again.  "  Who  is  Aunt  Venus  ?  —  where 
does  she  live  ?  " 

"  She  lives  up  the  road  about  half  a  mile.  We  belong  to 
Massa  James  Bell,"  said  the  child,  simply. 

"  We  ?  "  said  the  boy,  —  "  you  don't  belong  to  him,  do 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ida,  more  sadly ;  "  he  bought  me  a  long  time 
ago,  Aunt  Venus  says." 

The  boy's  face  flushed  crimson,  and  he  said,  quickly,  almost 
angrily,  "  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  are  this  manrs  se;  - 
vant ;  why,  you  are  as  white  as  I  am." 

Ida  looked  up  in  his  face  a  moment,  with  an  agitated  man- 
ner, and  her  eyes  fille  1  with  tears  as  she  said,  "  Yes,  I  'm  a 


IDA     MAY.  107 

servant  now  But  I  did  n't  always  live  here,  I  kww  I 
did  n't." 

"  Where  did  you  live  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  whose  interest  was 
d^ply  aroused. 

"  I  can't  remember,"  replied  Ida,  and  her  eyes  assumed  the 
dreamy  expression  they  always  wore  when  she  referred  to 
this  subject.  "  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  was  just  going  to 
remember,  and  then  it  all  goes  away  again.  0,  if  I  only 
could !  I  know  something  dreadful  happened ;  I  remember 
being  frightened,  and  then  I  went  to  sleep ;  and,  when  I  woke 
up,  Aunt  Venus  was  taking  care  of  me." 

"  Strange  !  "  said  the  boy,  musingly.  "  Can't  you  even 
remember  your  old  name  ?  What  do  they  call  you  now  ?  " 

"  They  call  me  Lizzy,"  said  the  child.  "Aunt  Venus  named 
me ;  but  I  can't  remember  what  my  other  name  was.  0,  I 
wish  I  could  !  I  don't  believe  I  was  always  a  servant." 

"  That 's  a  fact,"  said  the  boy,  eagerly  ;  "  your  whole  lan- 
guage and  appearance  tell  that  you  was  n't ;  and  it 's  a  great 
shame  for  anybody  to  keep  you  so.  I  '11  go  straight  myself, 
and  talk  with  Mr.  Bell  about  you ;  you  shall  show  me  the 
way,"  —  and  our  young  Don  Quixote  gathered  up  his  reins 
valorously,  to  begin  the  fight  in  behalf  of  this  wronged  prin- 
cess ;  but  she  stopped  him,  by  saying,  earnestly, 

"  0,  don't,  don't !  he  will  be  so  angry !  The  only  time  he 
ever  scolded  us  was  once  when  mauma  Venus  told  him  she 
thought  I  was  n't  a  nigger.  0,  he  got  so  mad,  it  frightened 
me  !  and  he  swore  dreadfully,  and  said,  nigger  or  not,  he  had 
bought  me,  and  paid  for  me,  and  I  belonged  to  him  ;  and  if 
10 


108  IDA     MAT. 

she  put  such  notions  into  my  head,  he  'd  sell  her.  (  ,  don  t 
tell  him  I  said  anything  about  it,  for  I  know  she  d  feel  so 
bad  to  be  sold  ! 

The  boy  looked  kindiy  down  into  the  little  face  that  gifted 
at  him  so  imploringly.  He  felt  strongly  tempted  to  carry  her 
away  with  him,  and  place  her  where  she  would  escape  tht 
fate  which  awaited  her ;  and  again  his  face  grew  crimson  as 
he  thought  of  what  would  probably  be  the  fate  of  one  who 
bid  fair  to  be  so  surpassingly  lovely.  But  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion convinced  him  of  the  impracticability  of  this  first  impulse 
of  an  honest  and  manly  heart. 

"  It  is  a  great  shame,"  he  said  ;  "  I  wish  I  could  do  some- 
thing for  you.  Can't  you  remember  anything  at  all  that 
could  tell  who  your  own  friends  are  ?  I  wish  I  could  find 
them." 

"  No,  I  can't  remember,"  said  the  child,  in  a  tone  of  the 
deepest  sadness. 

Her  new  friend  sat  thinking  for  a  while,  and  then,  remem- 
bering that  he  had  yet  some  milea  to  travel  before  night,  he 
said,  "  Well,  then,  I  suppose  I  can't  do  anything  about  it ; 
but  my  name  is  Walter  Varian,  and  I  live  —  really,  I  don 
know  exactly  where  I  do  live,"  he  added,  laughing ;   "  for  * 
have  two  homes,  and  just  now  I  am  in  college ;  but  a  lette 
directed  to  the  care  of  my  uncle,  Charles  Maynard,  Barnwel' 
Court-house,  will  reach  me.     You  can  write,  can't  you  - ' 

Ida  shook  her  head. 

"  Nor  read  ?  "  added  he. 

•'  No :  nobody  ever  taught  me.     Mass'  James  don't  like  hi 


IDA     MAY.  lU'J 

servants  to  learn  such  things.  He  says  they  a'n't  as  happy 
if  they  do,  and  he"  hatea  to  see  discontented  faces  round 
him." 

"  Master  James  is  a  selfish,  hard-hearted  villain  !  "  said  the 
boy,  with  a  burst  of  indignation ;  "  and  he  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  himself." 

"  0,  no  !  "  said  Ida,  "  he  is  very  kind  to  us  all.  Mauma 
says  he  is  the  kindest  massa  she  ever  saw,  and  it 's  only  be- 
cause he  's  citrus,  she  says,  makes  him  think  that." 

"  '  Gurus,'  I  think  !  "  said  Walter  Varian.  "  Well,"  he 
added,  sighing,  "  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer.  I  was  going 
to  say,  if  ever  you  do  remember  or  find  out  anything  that 
could  enable  you  to  regain  your  friends,  write  to  me,  or  get 
somebody  else  to  write,  and  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  help  you. 
You  won't  forget  my  name  ?  " 

"  0,  no,  indeed  !  "  replied  Ida,  eagerly ;  "  I  shall  never  for- 
get you ;  and  you  have  such  a  pretty  name  !  But  see,  here 
are  your  flowers  ;  you  came  near  forgetting  them." 

'•  So  I  did ;  thank  you,"  said  her  friend,  placing  them 
securely  in  his  cap.  "  Now  let  me  see  if  I  have  n't  something 
to  give  you  for  a  keepsake,"  —  and  he  took  from  his  purse  a 
small  gold  coin,  perforated  in  the  middle,  and,  producing  from 
one  of  his  capacious  pockets  a  black  cord,  he  strung  the  coin 
upon  it,  and  hung  it  over  her  neck.  "  There,  now,  keep  that 
to  remember  me  by,"  he  said,  "  and  give  me  a  kiss  for  good- 
by,  you  dear  little  girl,  for  I  must  go  now.  Don't  want  to  ?  '* 
he  added,  as  she  drew  back,  shyly ;  "  well,  then,  good-b^ 
without  it ; "  and,  with  a  lingering  glance  over  his  shouldeu 


1.10  IDA     MAT. 

at  the  child  who  had  so  interested  him,  he  went  on  his  way 
down  the  hill.  Ida  s*,ood  looking  after  him  as  long  as  he 
remained  in  sight,  stiL  holding  in  her  hand  the  coin  he  had 
given  her.  She  was  ignorant  of  its  value,  but  she  was 
greatly  pleased  with  the  gift,  and  her  meeting  with  this 
handsome  and  kind  youth  seemed  to  her  like  a  revelation  of 
a  new  and  happier  phase  of  existence.  When  he  was  no 
longer  in  view,  she  turned  her  steps  homeward,  and  before 
long  she  met  Aunt  Venus,  who  was  coming  to  meet  her. 
Ida  ran  towards  her,  eagerly  showing  the  gold  piece  and  re- 
lating her  adventure ;  and  thus  pleasantly  conversing  they 
walked,  in  the  growing  twilight,  up  the  mountain  road. 

At  one  corner  of  the  field,  next  the  house,  stood  a  large- 
oak,  round  the  trunk  of  which  a  circular  seat  had  been  con 
structed,  and  here  the  negroes  often  congregated  after  theh 
work  was  finished,  as  they  were  returning  to  their  quarters 
When  Venus  and  her  little  friend  reached  this  spot,  they  sat 
down  a  few  minutes,  to  rest,  beside  a  group  who  were  loiter- 
'ng  there. 

"  Ki !  "  exclaimed  a  fat,  hearty-looking  fellow,  who  at  the 
same  moment  came  up  with  slow,  weary  steps,  and  threw  him- 
self at  full  length  on  the  ground.  "  Whew  !  dis  nigger  am 
de  tired  chile  !  Dis  yer  fodder-pullin'  am  de  bery  wust  work 
dey  makes  a  feller  do.  'Pears  like  sometime  I  'd  hab  to  run 
away,  to  get  clar  ob  it." 

"  RITJI  away !  0  Lor  !  dat  a'n't  sich  mighty  easy  work 
n'other ;  tearin'  and  scratchin'  ober  de  roots  and  de  thorn- 
bushes,  wii  de  dogs  ater  ye,  may  be ;  and  starvin  on  berries 


IDA     MAY.  Ill 

and  raw  fish,  or  eatin'  snakes,  may  be,  and  freezin'  your  feeta 
walkin'  in  de  water,  may  be,  for  fear  ob  leabin'  de  scent. 
0,  Lor !  de  a'n't  no  fun  in  dat !  "  said  one  of  his  comrades. 

"  You  'se  tried  it,  Bill,  may  be  ?  "  said  the  first  speaker, 
<:  yer  seems  to  know  how  !t  feels." 

'•  Maybe  I  has,  den,  when  I  'se  on  de  old  plantation  .'fore  I 
fell  to  Massa  Bell.  0,  Lor  !  wasn't  I  glad  to  come  in  and 
take  it,  and  hab  it  ober  wid  ?  Better  stay  where  yer  is,  if 
/er  knows  what 's  what,"  replied  Bill. 

"  Well,"  said  a  fine-looking  fellow,  who  sat  astride  a  rail 
fence,  "  I  don't  want  to  run  away,  and  I  don't  complain  ob 
de  work;  what  we  has  to  do  here  a'n't  nothin'  —  a'n't  nothin' 
't  all.  If  I  only  had  my  wife  and  de  chillen  up  here,  dat  I 
lef  down  in  Charleston,  I  'd  be  mighty  satisfied ;  but  I  gets 
dat  out  o'  sorts  sometime  tinkin'  'bout  dein." 

"  More  fool  you,  den,"  rejoined  Bill.  "  Fur  my  part,  I  'se 
glad  'nuff  my  ole  woman  fell  to  Mass'  James'  sister,  when  ole 
massa  died.  I  'se  had  tree  wives,  and  I  likes  ebery  one 
better.  Take  anoder  wife  Jim,  and  don't  be  boderin  'bout 
de  ole  one.  Dal  3  what  I  did.  I  'se  Mass'  James'  'pinion, 
what  he  say  when  I  as  him  might  I  take  Rosa.  He  say, 
'  Dat  right,  Bill,  —  take  all  de  wives  you  can  get,  —  bariety 
am  de  spite  ob  life.'  Dat 's  what  I  tinks,  de  a'n't  nothin' 
like  bariety,  'specially  'bout  women." 

"  0,  get  out,  —  you  be  shame  !  "  said  two  or  three  voices, 

while  some  others  of  the  group  seemed  to  agree  with  Bill's 

opinion  on  matrimonial  subjects ;  and  one  quite  young  man, 

risi  ig  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  heart,  with  rather  an  ex- 

10* 


112  IDA    MAY. 

aggerated  attempt  at  sentiment,  said,  as  he  ogled  a  pretty 
mulatt:  girl  who  stood  near, 

"  I  'se'zactly  ob  de  'pinion  ob  de  gentleman  on  de  fence." 

"  I  'se  got  my  ole  woman  and  de  chillen,"  said  another, 
—  when  the  loud  laugh  which  this  last  speech  occasioned 
had  subsided,  —  "  and  we  'se  oncommon  comfortable  on  dis 
plantation,  and  I  would  n't  complain  if  I  ony  had  a  chance  ob 
gettin'  some  larnin'.  I  allers  did  want  to  know  how  to  read, 
and  de  write  would  come  mighty  handy  sometime.  If  I  ony 
know'd  dem,  'pears  like  I  would  n't  want  nothin'  more." 

"  Ki !  "  said  Bill,  "  de  read  and  write  a'n't  no  berry  easy 
work,  neither.  When  ole  massa  live,  I  tinks  once  I  'd  like 
larn 'em,  —  I'se  house  sarvent  part  de  time  den,  so  I  hab 
good  chance,  —  but,  0,  Lor  !  dey  's  mighty  sight  harder  dan 
fodder-pullin'  —  't  wan't  no  go  for  dis  nigger  !  " 

"  Dat  cause  you  so  stupid,"  said  the  young  fellow  who  had 
before  spoken.  "  I  larn  all  de  letters  once,  in  no  time,  out  ob 
young  Massa  James'  book." 

"  0,  you  shet  up  when  your  betters  am  talkin' ! "  said  Bill. 
'  What  you  know  'bout  larnin'  ?  Tell  ye  it 's  heap  harder  'n 
fodder-pullin'." 

"  Now,  fur  my  part,"  said  a  middle-aged,  sedate-looking 
man,  "  I  don't.  I  dono'  nothin'  'bout  larnin,' —  not  de  leastest 
ting  in  dis  yer  world,  —  and  don't  neber  'spect  to  but  'pears 
like  I  should  like  to  hab  my  chillen  larn  read  and  write. 
Dere  's  my  little  Pete,  now,  —  uncommon  smart  chap  dat 
Pete,  —  and  he  want  larn  readin'  dat  bad ;  and  sometime  he 
get  some  dc  buckra  chillen  larn  him  little,  but  Mass'  James 


IDA     MAY.  113 

when  he  know  it,  allers  swear  he  won't  have  no  sich.  Say 
't  a'n't  good  fu:  niggers.  Now  my  Pete  is  dat  bright  it  don't 
seem  'zactly  right  fur  Mass'  James  say  dat.  Somehow  ting3 
your  chillen  has  to  take,  'psars  like  dey  tetch  yc  more  dan 
tings  you  has  take  yourself,  —  and  my  Pete " 

"  0.  Lor !  what  a  rungrateful  set  ob  niggers  !  "  interrupted 
Bill,  snapping  his  fingers  till  every  joint  rattled  like  castanets. 
'  Here  you  is,  wid  plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  and  good  warm 
close  for  winter  dat 's  comin'  on.  and  here  ye  is  grumblin' 
like  yer  had  n't  no  good  massa,  like  Mass'  James.  Ef  you  'd 
ony  been  where  I'se  been,  and  seen  de  holes  some  niggers 
lives  in,  and  de  cuttings-up  dey  gets  if  dey  don't  work  de 
ikin  off  dere  bones  —  0.  Lor  !  ef  you  was  in  some  places,  ye 
might  grumble.  Tell  ye  what,  niggers,  ye  's  dat  rungrateful 
'pears  like  ye  did  n't  'sarve  none  o'  your  blessings ;  "  and, 
jumping  on  the  seat  around  the  tree,  he  added,  with  a  comical 
grimace,  "  Gen'lemen  and  ladies,  we  will  now  close  dis 
meetin'  wid  singin',  after  which  we  will  disjourn  home,  and 
get  supper  ;  "  and  forthwith  he  struck  up  a  lively  air,  embody- 
ing it  in  some  incoherent  and  nonsensical  rhymes,  with  a 
chorus  of  vowels  and  cachinnations  oddly  jumbled  together;  in 
which  many  of  those  around  him  joined,  with  a  zest  that 
showed  how  easily  their  mercurial  temperament  could  throw 
off  the  weight  of  discontent ;  but  the  older  and  graver  men 
turned  away,  with  moody  faces,  and  sought  their  cabins. 

The  sound  of  their  singing  came,  softened  by  distance 
into  a  pleasant  melody,  to  the  piazza  where  Mr.  Bell  and  hia 


114  IDA     MAY. 

wife  wi;re  sitting.  The  gentleman,  who  was  lolling  in  an  easy 
chair,  with  his  feet  on  the  railing  of  the  verandah,  laid  down 
the  papei,  which  it  was  now  too  dark  to  read,  and,  after  listen- 
ing a  few  moments,  he  said, 

"  They  are  having  a  nice  time  down  there,  singing.  Wh* 
says  the  negroes  a'n't  happy  and  contented  !  " 

"Your  negroes  are  happy  enough  and  contented  enough," 
replied  Mrs  Bell,  "  and  well  they  may  be.  I  never  saw  a 
man  get  so  little  out  of  a  gang  of  people  as  you  do.  Half 
the  number  you  keep  would  do  all  there  is  to  do  on  this  farm, 
if  they  were  only  properly  worked ;  but,  there !  if  you  won't 
nave  them  whipped,  you  must  expect  them  to  be  lazy.  There 
never  was  a  nigger  yet  would  work  if  he  could  help  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  spouse,  with  great  good-nature,  "  the 
best  of  folks  are  mistaken  sometimes,  and  you  are  so  good  that 
you  make  mistakes  very  often,  —  at  least  upon  the  subject  of 
governing  negroes.  Why,  my  love,  I  pride  myself  upon  not 
being  obliged  to  use  the  whip.  It 's  a  great  deal  easier  and 
pleasanter  to  manage  them  this  way.  Those  that  are  good 
for  anything  will  do  twice  as  much  work  to  be  used  as  I  use 
them,  than  they  will  to  be  driven  to  death ;  and,  beside,  what 
man  would  want  to  be  always  whipping  ?  Faugh !  —  it 's  too 
brutal.  If  they  won't  do  their  work  without  that,  why,  then 
I  '11  sell  'em,  and  let  somebody  else  do  it.  I  want  to  get 
along  the  world  easily,  and  I  mean  to." 

"  Well,  you  must  acknowledge,  Mr.  Bell,"  said  his  lady, 
'•  that  you  have  a  great  many  more  hands  than  are  necessary, 
DOT?'  there  art'  so  many  children  growing  up  on  the  place 


IDA     MAY.  lift 

The  fact  s,  \ve  ar ;  literally  swarming,  and  we  must  colonizu 
soon,  or  we  shaL  be  eaten  out  of  house  and  home.  It 
would  n't  be  so  bad  if  you  kept  'em  in  the  cheapest  possible 
way,  as  nost  persons  do ;  but  it  really  seems  to  make  you 
nervous  if  they  don't  look  just  so  comfortable." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  "  I  can't  be  bothered  with  having 
them  complaining  round  me ;  beside,  as  I  said,  it  pays  to 
keep  them  well." 

"  Perhaps  it  does,"  replied  his  wife,  "  where  one  has  only 
a  limited  number ;  but  where  a  place  is  overrun,  as  ours  is,  it 
is  too  expensive.  In  fact,  it  has  come  to  just  this  —  either 
you  must  sell  some  of  them,  or  your  family  must  go  without 
many  things  they  need.  Susv  and  Mary  ought  to  have  an 
accomplished  governess,  and  it  won't  be  long  before  Willy 
ought  to  begin  to  fit  for  college ;  and  where  is  the  money 
coming  from  ?  For  my  part,  I  think  it  is  really  wicked  for 
you  not  to  provide  for  your  own  children." 

"  I  mean  to  provide  for  them,"  said  Mr.  Bell ;  "  but  you 
see  I  've  held  this  dread  of  being  sold  as  a  threat  over  the 
niggers  to  make  'em  work,  and,  as  I  do  think  they  all  do 
about  the  best  they  can,  I  don't  fairly  like  to  sell  'em  as  long 
as  I  can  avoid  it."  v 

"  They  are  good  servants,"  replied  the  lady.  "  1  was 
thinking,  the  other  day,  it  was  seldom  one  saw  such  an  intel- 
ligent, good-looking  set  of  peo  :le,  take  them  all  together,  as 
ours  are ;  but,  for  that  very  reason,  it  is  more  your  duty  .o 
sell  them,  they  '11  bring  so  much  better  price  in  the  market 
Besides,  what  a  preposterous  idea  for  a  man  to  think  he  must 


116  ID*     MAT. 

give  his  servants  a  reason  for  being  sold  !  A'n't  they  your 
property  ?  Have  n't  you  a  right  to  seJl  them  ?  " 

"  To  ba  sure  I  have,"  said  her  husband,  and  then,  after  a 
little  pause  he  added,  "I  had  an  offer  to-day  for  some  of 
them.  There 's  a  trader  at  the  tavern  below  here,  who  is 
making  up  a  gang  to  take  south.  He  bought  six  of  our 
neighbor  Elton.  He  ga?e  a  good  price  for  them,  too ;  negroes 
are  very  high  just  now." 

"  0,  do  sell,  then  !  "  said  his  wife,  earnestly.  "  You  must 
sell  soon,  and  perhaps  the  market  won't  be  so  good.  Come, 
now,  go  down  to-morrow  and  make  a  bargain.  It 's  a  shame 
to  have  so  much  money  lying  dead,  as  we  have  on  oui 
place." 

"  As  to  that  matter,  I  reckon  you  '11  find  it  anything  but 
dead  when  the  time  of  sale  comes.  Bless  my  soul !  what  a 
time  chere  'd  be !  I  ache  to  think  of  it." 

"0,  they  '11  get  over  it  soon  !  They  're  all  so  used  to  it 
they  don't  mind  it  much  after  a  few  days.  'T  is  n't  as  if  the} 
were  refined  and  educated,  and  did  n't  expect  it.  They  are 
mere  animals." 

"  Pooh,  nonsense  !  "  said  Mr.  Bell ;  "  you  know  better  thac 
that.  I  've  seen  niggers  manifest  as  much  feeling  as  any- 
body could ;  but  then  they  are  mere  children,  and,  as  you 
cay,  seem  to  get  over  everything  just  as  a  child  forgets  its 
troubles.  You  seldom  hear  them  say  much  about  anything 
that 's  past,  if  they  only  get  enough  to  eat  and  drink  at  the 
present  moment.  Well,  perhaps  I  may  as  well  sell  now  as 
any  t'nje ;  prices  are  so  high  I  shan't  have  to  part  with  so 


IDA     MAY.  117 

many,  to  raise  what  money  I  want,  as  I  might  at  some  other 
seasons." 

"  I  ani  thankful  to  hear  you  talk  sensibly  for  once/'  re- 
plied his  wife.  "  Sell,  by  all  means,  now  you  have  a  good 
opportunity.  If  you  don't  want  to  endure  the  scenes  there  '11 
be,  you  can  go  off  somewhere  for  a  little  while,  after  you  've 
made  the  bargain,  and  stay  a  few  days,  and  by  the  time  you 
get  back  they  will  hav.e  got  over  the  sulks,  I  reckon.  /  can 
stand  it  well  enough.  They  won't  make  much  fuss  where  J 
am,  —  they  are  more  afraid  of  me  than  they  are  of  you. 
You  are  too  soft-hearted ;  I  ought  to  have  been  the  man 
in  this  family." 

"  Perhaps  you  do  wear  the  pantaloons,"  said  her  husband, 
iaughing.  "  Well,  then,  whom  shall  we  sell  ?" 

"  I  don't  care  who  goes  of  the  field  hands,"  Mrs.  Bell  re- 
plied ;  "  but  one  thing  I  'm  determined  on,  and  that  is,  that 
Aunt  Venus'  Lizzy  shall  go." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  sell  that  child  for  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Bell,  in  a  tone  of  vexation.  "  She  '11  be  no  use  to  pick 
cotton." 

"  She 's  no  earthly  use  here,  you  may  make  sure,'  the 
lady  said,  in  a  firm  voice,  "  and  the  older  she  grows  the  lazier 
she  is.  There  is  n't  a  thing  she  knows  how  to  do,  except 
dress  her  hair  and  rig  herself  up  with  flowers.  She  's  the 
vainest  little  minx  I  ever  saw,  and  as  pert  as  you  please." 

"  Is  she  pert  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bell.  "  I  always  thought  he* 
remarkably  gentle  and  retiring.  She  has  very  pretty  mau 
ners  I  'm  sure." 


118  IDA     MAY. 

"  0  yes,  no  doubt  you  think  so  !  "  said  Mrs.  Bell,  mock- 
ingly.  "  I  snould  n't  in  the  least  wonder  if,  after  a  while, 
you  should  think  as  much  of  her  as  you  did  of  Ellen  !  Mr. 
Bell,  you  're  2nough  to  provoke  a  saint."  There  was  a  flash- 
ing in  her  eye,  and  a  quiver  in  her  voice,  that  the  husband 
knew  too  well ;  and  like  the  "  coon,"  who,  upon  recognizing 
the  hunter,  said,  "  You  need  n't  fire,  I  '11  come  down," 
Mr.  Bell  hastened  to  avert  the  siege  by  a  conditional 
surrender. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  answered  quickly,  "  I  don't  care,  —  - 
she  shall  go.  Only  I  advise  you  to  let  Venus  go  too,  for  she 
is  getting  old,  and  won't  be  worth  much  as  seamstress  much 
longer ;  and  her  heart  is  so  set  upon  Lizzy  that  she  won't  be 
good  for  much  after  she  's  gone.  I  heard  you  say  the  other 
day  that  Rose  and  Milly  were  very  good  with  the  need1'1 
They  can  take  her  place  well  enough." 

"  I  suppose  they  can.  Aunt  Venus  don't  sew  as  well  as 
she  used  to,  and  I  think,  if  her  sight  is  failing,  perhaps 
't  would  be  as  well  to  sell  her.  I  've  always  thought," 
added  Mrs.  Bell,  in  a  mollified  tone,  "  that  I  should  like 
to  know  who  that  child  is.  She  don't  seem  like  common 
children." 

"  She  's  the  child  of  some  poor  white,  probably,"  replied 
Mr.  Bell,  carelessly ;  and,  after  some  further  conversation, 
it  was  settled  that,  beside  these  two,  Molsey  and  her  children 
and  four  of  the  field  hands  should  be  disposed  of. 

Venus  was  sitting  before  the  fire  in  her  hut,  for  it  was 
now  the  middle  of  November,  and  the  evenings  were  chilly. 


IDA     MAY.  110 

The  pine  knots  cast  a  cheery  glow  and  ^  armth  over  the  room, 
and  over  the  dusky  faces  that  were  seated  in  various  posi- 
tions, more  easy  than  graceful,  around  the  hearth.  Lizzy 
sat  on  a  low  bench,  with  her  head  resting  on  her  hand,  and 
her  eyes  fixed  dreamily  on  the  fire,  apparently  unmindful  of 
the  conversation  which  Venus  was  holding  with  two  of  her 
fellow-servants.  • 

"  Did  you  hear  how  de  fellers  was  singin'  and  actin'  down 
by  de  big  tree,  to-night  ? "  said  Venus,  after  a  little  pauso 
had  occurred. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary.  "  I  goed  down  to  meet  Joe,  and  dere 
dey  was  goin'  it  powerful.  Dat  yer  Bill  am  de  actingest 
nigger ! " 

"  So  he  be,  sure  miff,"  said  Tenah.  "  Well,"  she  added, 
with  a  sigh,  "  let  dem  sing  as  feels  like  it :  fur  my  share, 
't  a'n't  often  I  a'n't  clare  ober  on  de  oder  side  de  fence,  and 
feels  more  like  cryin'." 

"  0  Lor  !  what  de  good  ? "  said  Mary.  "  Laughin'  's  a 
heap  better  'n  crying,  any  time  ;  and  singin'  's  better  'n  either. 
'Pears  like  singin'  lifted  de  load  right  up  off  de  heart,  and 
made  eberyting  go  easy.  I  allers  sings  when  I  feels  bad." 

"  I  don't  den,"  said  Tenah. 

"  We  is  a  light-hearted  set  —  we  niggers,  dat  is  de  fact," 
rejoined  Venus ;  "  and  I  'se  sure  it 's  a  blessin',  for  de  Lord 
knows  what  we  'd  do  if  we  could  n't  throw  off  our  stroubles 
sometimes,  and  forget  'em  like.  I  'clare  'fore  goodness,  I 
do  believe,  jist  soon  as  de  load '?  lifted  off  dere  back  de 
leastest  mite,  de  niggers  will  allers  dance  and  sing  like 
11 


120  IDA     51  A  Y  . 

dey  had  n't  no  strouble  in  de  wona  ;   but  they  don't  j'cel  si 
neither," 

"  No,'  replied  Mary,  "  dey  was  grumblin'  powerful  to- 
night '  What  dat ? "  she  added,  starting  suddenly,  as  a 
slight  noise  at  the  door  attracted  the  attention  of  all 
present. 

The  latch  was  lifted  noiselessly,  and  the  door,  slowly  open- 
ing, revealed  first  a  woolly  head,  then  a  face  that  seemed 
bursting,  not  only  at  the  wide-open  eyes  and  mouth,  but 
through  every  feature  and  muscle,  with  astonishment  and 
consternation ;  and,  finally,  the  lithe  form  of  a  young  girl 
glided  through  the  doorway,  and  closed  it  behind  her. 

"  Bress  my  stair  !  "  exclaimed  Mary,  "  what  for  you  come 
dat  way,  Bell,  stealin'  in  like  you  was  some  kind  ob  spooks  ? 
Most  scare  a  nigger,  you  did." 

Bell,  however,  took  no  notice  of  this  exclamation;  but,  going 
up  to  Aunt  Venus,  and  holding  up  both  hands,  she  said,  in  a 
loud  whisper, 

"  0,  what  you  tink,  Aunt  Venus  ?  —  dere  's  gwine  to  be  z. 
sale ! " 

':  A  sale  !  "  cried  all  three  of  the  women  together,  cluster 
ing  around  her. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  girl ;  "  and  you  'se  got  to  go,  Bonus, — 
you  and  Lizzy,  fust  ob  all." 

Venus;  who  had  half  risen  from  her  chair,  sank  back  like 
>ne  stunned  by  a  sudden  blow,  as  she  heard  these  words ; 
but  instantly,  almost  involuntarily,  she  put  her  Sirms  arcunt! 


IDA    MAY. 

Lizzy,  who  now  stood  beside  her,  and  Blasted  her  clcbe  to  hei 
bosom 

"  0,  you  get  out,  now  !      You  'se  just  tryin'  to  scare  us 
What  de  good  ?  "  said  Mary,  making  a  desperate  attempt  a( 
jocularity. 

"  I  be  n't  nother,"  said  Bell,  earnestly.  "  Jest  as  true  's 
de  stairs  is  a  shinin'  up  in  de  sky  dis  yer  minute,  dere  gwine 
to  be  a  sale  to-morrow  ;  and  I  'se  layin'  down  on  de  mat  in 
de  hall,  and  hear  massa  and  miss  talkin'  'bout  it,  and  dey 
did  n't  know  nobody  hear  'em." 

"  0  !  "  exclaimed  Venus,  with  a  groan  that  seemed  to  rend 
her  heart.  "  What  on  airth  has  Lizzy  and  me  done  did,  dat 
we  'se  gwine  to  be  sold  ?  " 

"  Nothin'  's  I  hears,  ony  miss  don't  like  Lizzy,  and  Mass' 
James  say  she  shan't  be  sold  and  toted  off  away  from  you." 

"  It 's  one  comfort,"  said  Lizzy,  timidly,  nestling  as  she 
spoke  still  closer  to  her  nurse,  "  it 's  one  comfort  that  we  can 
go  together." 

"  'T  a'n't  no  'count,  honey,"  replied  Venus,  weeping,  "  't  a'n't 
no  manner  o'  'count  Mass'  James  means  well,  but  when  de 
epeckelators  gets  us,  dey  won't  mind  nothin'  'bout  sellin'  us 
together.  Didn't  dey  sell  my  own  chillen'way  from  me,  and 
dey  won't  never  b'lieve  dat  you  'se  anything  to  me.  0 
Lord !  'pears  like  I  should  die,  now,  to  be  all  broke  up  and 
toted  off  jest  when  I  'se  gettin'  settled  like,  and  little  more 
comforble ! " 

"  Who  else  ?  A'n't  nobody  else  gwine  'cept  Benus  ? ' 
asked  Mary,  whose  mind  now  recurred  to  her  own  danger 


122  IDA     MAY. 

which  sht  had  for  a  moment  forgotten,  in  her  sympathy  foi 
Venus. 

"  0  laws  yes,"  said  Bell.  "  Dere  's  Molsey  and  de  chil- 
len,  and  ole  lam,  and  Tabe,  and  Jim,  and  Mose  Brown,  — 
dat  's  all." 

It  would  have  been  a  study  for  a  physiognomist  to  have 
watched  the  changing  and  intense  expression  with  which  those 
:wo  women  listened,  as  this  list  of  the  doomed  ones  was  called 
c  ?er ;  and,  when  the  last  name  was  pronounced,  Tenah,  throw- 
ing up  her  arms  convulsively,  gave  one  prolonged,  wailing 
cry,  and  sank  down  to  the  floor  in  a  fit.  Mose  Brown  was 
her  husband ;  and  she  had  been,  for  the  last  three  months, 
almost  frantic  with  grief  for  the  death  of  an  only  child.  Her 
master  had  hesitated  a  little,  on  this  account,  about  selling 
Mose ;  but,  unfortunately,  there  were  some  reasons  why  it  was 
more  convenient  to  dispose  of  him  than  some  others ;  and 
Mrs.  Bell  had  suggested  that  "  perhaps  it  would  be  just  as 
well  to  divert  Tenah  from  her  unreasonable  sorrow  for  the 
dead,  by  changing  the  course  of  her  feelings  into  another 
channel,  where  she  might  more  easily  be  consoled.  There 
were  plenty  of  fellows  about,  who  would  do  just  as  well  as  a 
husband  for  her,  and  she  could  soon  supply  the  loss." 

Mrs.  Bell  was  a  fond  wife  and  a  tender  mother,  but  it 
never  occurred  to  her,  while  she  spoke  these  words,  that  the 
"  nigger  "  to  whom  they  referred  was  capable  of  emotions  aa 
intense  as  any  h;r  own  heart  could  feel  under  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. 

An  hour  passed  before  the  wretched  woman  coulc  recover 


IDA     MAY.  12b 

sufficiently  to  seek  her  own  cabin ;  and,  even  then,  her  feeble 
steps  were  supported  by  Mary  and  Venus ;  for  Bell,  having 
satisfied  the  mischievous  propensity  to  tell  bad  tidings,  which 
seems  inherent  in  some  specimens  of  human  nature,  had 
long  since  gone  to  talk  over  the  news  with  less  interested 
companions. 

Left  alone,  at  length,  in  the  solitude  of  her  own  hut,  Venus 
abandoned  herself  to  the  tide  of  bitter  and  indignant  feeling 
that  swept  over  her  soul.  Many  hours  she  sat  before  the 
embers  on  the  hearth,  crouching  down  with  her  face  buried  in 
her  hands,  motionless  and  silent,  save  for  the  deep  groans, 
and  the  half-uttered  ejaculations  and  prayers  that  at  times 
escaped  her  lips.  She  was  a  Christian,  and  through  many  a 
severe  trial  she  had  trodden  with  a  firm  step,  upheld  by  her 
faith  in  that  which  is  unseen  and  eternal ;  but  now,  in  this 
sudden  crush  and  ruin  of  all  her  earthly  hopes  and  comforts, 
she  could  no  longer  hear  the  "  still  small  voice  "  of  the  divine 
Comforter,  and  an  evil  spirit  seemed  mocking  her  wild  prayers 
and  tempting  her  to  despair. 

She  had  known  deeper  grief,  keener  heart-pangs,  than  those 
to  which  this  change  of  life  exposed  her,  but  never  a  more 
severe  disappointment.  After  her  separation  from  her  early 
friend  —  her  adored  Miss  Lizzy  —  she  had  passed  into  the 
hands  of  stern  men,  who  ignored  the  rights  and  were  careless 
of  the  sufferings  of  their  servants  and  hard  indeed  was  her 
bondage  to  them,  toiling  from  early  morning  till  late  at  night, 
to  be  repaid  by  the  cold,  miserable  hovel  in  which  she  lived 

the  scanty  Nothing  and  insufficient  food,  which  was  all  that 
11* 


124  IDA     MAY. 

her  best  services  could  obtain ;  and  jften  receiving,  in  case 
of  failure,  harsh  words,  curses  and  blows.  After  some  yeara 
she  had  "  taken "  another  husband,  induced  thereto  partly 
by  the  incessant  importunities,  commands,  and  even  threats 
of  her  master,  who  wished  her  to  be  as  profitable  to  him  as 
possible,  and  insisted  that  a  young,  healthy  woman,  like  her, 
ought  to  be  raising  a  family  of  children ;  and  partly  by  the 
vpain  hope  that  new  family  cares  and  joys  might  hush  that 
ceaseless  cry  of  her  heart  after  its  lost  ones.  In  this  hope 
she  was  wofully  disappointed.  Her  second  choice  was  a 
worthless,  drunken  fellow ;  and  though  he  had  courted  her 
assiduously,  and  hidden  his  vices  from  her  sight  until  she 
became  his  wife,  he  threw  off  all  disguise  from  that  day,  and 
feeemed  tb  delight  to  abuse  and  insult  her  to  the  extent  of 
his  power.  Death  at  last  came  to  release  her  from  this  tyr- 
anny ;  and  for  a  little  while  she  enjoyed  the  strange  quiet  of 
her  wretched  hut,  and  busied  herself  in  giving  what  care  she 
could  to  her  only  child,  a  bright  and  active  little  boy,  who 
seemed  to  strive  to  please  and  comfort,  as  much  as  his  father 
had  striven  to  oppress  her.  But  he  was  not,  like  her  first 
children,  "  beloved  for  the  father's  sake ; "  and  though  she 
grieved  at  leaving  him  when  she  was  sold  to  Mr.  Bell,  it  was 
not  with  that  agonizing  sorrow  which  even  now  after  the 
*apse  of  years,  was  awakened  by  the  thought  of  those  who 
oad  first  claimed  from  her  a  mother's  love  and  care. 

These  dark  passages  of  her  life  made  the  light  tasks,  the 
comfortable  home,  and  the  quiet  seclusion  of  her  lot,  since  she 
had  lived  on  the  Bell  plantation,  seem  like  a  paradise.  Espe- 


i  r  A   MAT.  12u 

cially  since  Ida  had  coine  to  nestle  in  her  heart,  and  gladden 
that  tumble  dwelling  with  the  sunshine  of  her  beauty,  the 
toil-v;orn  and  long-harassed  woman  had  dared  to  indulge  in 
visions  of  peace  and  contentment,  and  of  a  quiet  and  happy 
old  age.  But  now  to  be  turned  out  from  this  pleasant  place, 
and  to  leave  a  kind  master,  for  the  wearing  labor  of  a  rice  or 
sugar  plantation,  and  the  cruel  tyranny  of  a  heartless  over- 
seer !  0,  it  was  hard  to  understand  how  it  could  be  right  for 
the  arbitrary  will  of  another  to  subject  her  to  this  trial !  —  it 
was  dreadful  to  feel  how  perfectly  helpless  she  was,  how  vain 
must  be  all  her  struggles,  how  hopeless  all  appeal  from  the 
power  that  crushed  her ! 

These  and  many  more  thoughts  passed  through  the  mind  of 
Aunt  Venus,  as  she  sat  there  in  the  cold,  dark  midnight  hour. 
Every  wrong  and  evil  she  had  borne,  every  joy  she  had  lost, 
every  friend  she  had  parted  from,  came  before  her,  till  her 
brain  reeled  beneath  the  fearful  excitement;  but  yet  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  could  have  endured  it  all,  if  she  could  have  been 
sure  that  her  adopted  child,  the  pride  and  darling  of  her 
heart,  would  continue  as  she  had  been,  safe  and  happy,  and 
free  from  any  except  the  minor  evils  of  her  servile  condition. 
She  listened  to  the  child's  soft,  low  breathing,  as  she  slum- 
bered on  the  bed  near  her,  and  she  thought  of  the  probable 
separation  that  awaited  them ;  and  her  whole  Jtramc  quivered 
and  shrank  together  as  she  remembered  things  she  had  known 
in  the  past,  and  her  fancy  pictured  the  scenes  of  suffering,  in- 
wilt,  degradation  and  sin,  which  that  innocent  and  delicate 
creature  would  be  forced  to  undergj. 


126  IDA     MAY 

With  the  early  dawn  of  morning,  Ida  woke  from  the  sweet 
Bleep  in  which,  for  a  while,  she  had  lost  the  memory  of  sor- 
row. Her  first  thought  was  for  the  kind  friend  who  usually 
lay  beside  her  at  that  hour ;  but  she  was  not  there,  and,  rais- 
ing herself  on  her  elbow,  she  discovered  Venus  just  rising 
from  the  floor,  where  her  weary  senses  had  at  length  found 
repose. 

"  Why,  mauma,"  she  said,  "  have  you  been  sleeping  there 
all  night  on  those  hard  boards  ?  " 

"  De  boards  is  good  enough,  honey,  for  the  like  o'  me," 
replied  Venus,  sadly ;  "  if  I  on'y  know'd  I  'd  allers  see  you 
when  I  wake  up  in  de  mornin',  I  would  n't  mind  sleepin'  dere 
Dere 's  things  harder  'n  boards" 

"  0,  mauma,  don't  be  so  sad  !  "  said  the  child.  "  Perhaps 
we  shall  be  just  as  well  off,  and  I  almost  know  we  shall  be 
sold  together." 

Venus  shook  her  head  despondingly.  "  Think  so  while  ye 
can,  honey,"  she  said.  "  You  dono'  nothin'  'bout  it,  not  de 
leastest  mite  in  de  world,  and  I  a'n't  gwine  tell  ye  'fore  de 
strouble  come.  For  my  part,  I  don't  'spect  nothin'  good. 
I  'se  jist  done  made  up  my  mind  neber  to  be  happy  no  more 
till  de  day  I  die." 

Nothing  more  was  said,  for  her  words  checked  the  child's 
hopefulness,  and  she  knew  not  what  consolation  to  offer. 
When  their  short  and  simple  toilet  was  completed,  Venus 
opened  the  shutters,  and  Ida,  throwing  open  the  door,  let  in 
the  cool,  sweet  morning  air  and  the  golden  light  that,  stream- 


IDA    MA7.  127 

ing  uj,  .rom  behind  the  trees,  gave  bright  token  of  the  coming 
day. 

"Dere's  de  sun  gwine  shine  dis  day,  j  1st  like  he  allers 
does,"  said  Venus,  moodily,  as  she  came  and  stood  outside 
the  door  with  Ida.  "  I  can't  'stand  nothin'  bout  it,  how  de 
sun  can  shine  ebery  day  right  on,  jist  de  same ;  neber  no 
hotter  nor  no  colder,  like  it  was  dat  onfeelin'  it  neber  saw 
none  o'  de  hateful  things  it  looks  at  wid  its  great  starin' 
eye.  If  I  was  de  sun,  would  n't  I  come  down  wid  great  hot 
sunstroke,  clap !  down  onto  some  peoples  I  'se  seen,  and  kill 
'em  dead?  But,  laws !  I'se  an  ole  fool,  and  'ta'n't  no  'count 
to  de  sun ;  and  I  'se  an  ole  wicked  sinner,  too,  and  I  hopes 
'fore  goodness  de  Lord  '11  fcigive  me  for  wislnn'  folks  was 
dead,  and  where  dey  could  n't  bother  niggers  no  longer,  foi 
'pears  like  'ta'n't  no  better 'n  murder  I'se  doin'.  Well,'" 
she  added,  with  a  long  sigh,  "  I  'se  dat  wicked,  I  knows,  but 
p'raps  de  good  Lord  won't  be  so  hard  onto  us  as  de  white 
folks  is,  and  '11  let  us  off,  if  we  don't  mind  every  minute. 
De  Lord  dat  merciful,  honey,  de  good  book  say,  like  a  father 
wid  his  little  chillen.  'Pears  like  't  would  be  great  comfort  in 
desc  times,  when  de  debil  come  up  so  strong,  if  I  could  read 
dem  words  my  own  self  If  I  could  on'y  know  de  Lord 
orders  eberyting,  'paars  like  't  would  be  easier  to  bear  deso 
;er  things ;  but  'pears  like  somehow  de  Lord  did  n't  have 
Dothin'  to  do  wid  it,  and  den  I  feels  dat  savage  !  " 

While  she  had  been  speaking,  Aunt  Venus  had  taken  a 
knife,  and,  standing  on  a  high  block  of  wood,  she  had  been 
digging  the  clay,  which  had  at  some  former  time  been  pressed 


128  £  t  i     MAY 

/ 

tightly  into  an  irregular  hole,  far  up  the  trunk  of  the  walnut- 
tree  that  stcod  beside  the  door  This  mysterious  proceeding 
had  arrested  Ida's  attention  to  that  degree  that  she  hardly 
listened  to  what  Venus  was  saying,  and  at  this  moment  she 
interrupted  her  by  exclaiming,  "  Do  tell  me,  mauma,  what 
you  are  doing  to  the  tree  !  " 

"  Dia  yer  is  my  closet  where  I  locks  up  things,"  replied 
Venus.  "  You  know,  honey,  I  a'n't  got  no  trunk  wid  a  lock 
onto  it,  so  when  I  wants  to  keep  things  hid  safe,  I  put  'em 
in  some  hole  like  dis,  and  plasters  'em  up  wid  clay." 

"  What 's  in  there  ? "  asked  Ida. 

"  You  '11  see  in  a  minute,  honey,"  replied  her  friend. 

But  the  minute  was  rather  long,  for  the  bark  had  grown 
over  the  opening  a  little,  and  it  was  some  time  before  Venus 
could  manage  to  extract  from  her  "  closet  "  a  small  tin  box, 
closely  covered,  which  she  opened  with  some  difficulty,  and 
disclosed  to  Ida's  eyes  what  seemed  a  piece  of  old  linen, 
compactly  rolled  together. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  it  ?  "  said  Ida  with  great  curiosity. 

"  It  b'longs  to  you,  honey,"  replied  Venus,  as  she  proceeded 
to  unroll  it ;  "  it 's  de  on'y  thing  left  dat  you  had  on  when 
you  was  took  away,  and  toted  down  here.  Now  we'se 
gwine  to  be  driv  off  south,  you  must  take  it,  and  take  care  of 
it  yourself." 

It  was  the  upper  part  of  a  child's  linen  shirt,  finely  worked 
around  the  neck,  and  bordered  round  the  sleeves  with  thread 
.ace.  "  Is  it  mine  ?  was  it  on  me  ?  where 's  the  rest  of  it  ? '' 


IDA     MAY  129 

asked  the  child  eagerly,  with  flushed  cheek  and  hurried 
breath. 

"  Dere  was  n't  no  more  of  it,  honey,  neber.  De  rest  was 
aL  in  rags,  where  it  had  got  tore  wid  yer  knockin'  round, 
when  ye  was  sick,  'fore  yer  come  here  ;  so  I  cut  it  off.  Yer 
know,  honey,  I  tolled  yer  what  a  sick  little  creatur  yer  was, 
and  how  ye  was  dressed  like  a  boy  when  I  see  yer.  Well, 
when  I  took  ye  down  here  I  took  some  water  to  wash  ye,  fust 
thing,  'cause  yer  was  dot  dirty,  and,  laws  bless  me  !  how  I  did 
jump  when  I  find  de  black  wash  of!  Well,  den,  I  has  my 
'flections  on  de  subject,  all  the  time  I  'se  undressin'  yer,  and 
when  I  come  to  take  off  dis  thing  last,  and  see  how  nice  't  was 
through  all  de  dirt,  and  de  stain  dat  was  on  it  where  de 
rapscal  done  painted  yer  neck,  to  make  it  like  you  was  black 
baby ;  'specially  after  I  see  de  lace  't  was  round  it,  den  I  say, 
Sure  'nuff,  dis  a'n't  no  nigger,  nor  no  poor  buckra  child 
neither.  Dis  yer  poor  baby  must  b'long  to  somebody  dat  '11 
cry  powerful  a'ter  her.'  0,  honey,  den  I  cry  myself,  to  think 
o'  your  poor  mammy  dat  had  her  baby  stole,  and  tot^d  'way 
from  her." 

"  0,  Venup,"  said  the  child,  with  quivering  lips,  while  her 
large  eyes  slowly  filled  with  tears,  you  don't  know  how  you 
make  me  feel !  Can't  you  tell  me  more  ?  Is  this  all  you 
know  ? " 

"  Yes,  honey,"  replied  Venus,  sorrowfully,  "  dat  all  I 
know,  ebery  rag" 

Ida  continued  wistfully  turning  over  this  relic  of  the  past, 
examining  the  pattern  of  the  lace,  and  lingering  fondly  over 


130  IDA    MAY. 

the  faint  traces  of  a  leaf,  with  stems  and  small  flowers  deli 
cately  drawn  in  indelible   ink;    for  Mrs.  May,  in  an   idle 
moment,  had  thus  fancifully  adorned  the  front  of  the  garment 
which  her  own  fair  hands  had  made. 

"  What  a  funny  little  picture  this  is  !  "  she  said  at  length. 

"  Yes,  honey ;  dere  's  where  some  white  folks  write  de 
name,  but  'pears  like  de  was  n't  any  name  here,  on'y  a  pic- 
ter." 

And  again  the  two  examined  closely  this  spot  on  which 
their  attention  was  fixed ;  but,  to  their  unpractised  eyes,  the 
name,  which  was  written  in  minute  characters,  in  the  centre 
of  the  leaf,  seemed  not  unlike  the  other  lines  that  shaded 
it. 

When  Ida  was  satisfied  with  looking  at  it,  Venus  took  it 
from  her,  and,  enclosing  it  in  a  small  piece  of  bkck  silk, 
which  she  had  picked  up  somewhere,  attached  it  firmly  to  the 
cord  by  which  the  precious  gold  coin  was  hanging  round 
Ida's  neck.  "  Dere  now,  honey,"  she  said,  "  hide  dat,  hide 
loth  ob  'em',  and  don't  neber  be  lookin'  at  'em  where  nobody 
is,  nor  showin'  'em,  nor  talkin'  'bout  'em  to  nobody,  for  if  you 
do  you  '11  lose  'em.  Niggers  will  steal  'em,  'cause  dey  wants 
de  gold,  and  white  folks  a'n't  no  better  'n  niggers  sometimes ; 
and  don't  neber  show  'em  to  your  massa  or  missis,  'cause 
dey  'd  take  'em  in  a  minute,  for  fear  of  its  telling  you  was  n't 
no  nigger,  and  so  gettin'  away  somehow.  Some  of  'em  's 
good,  I  knows,  but  I  'se  noticed  somehow  de  bery  best  ob  'em 
when  dey 's  bought  a  nigger  and  paid  for  him,  'peai&  like  dey 
couldn't  bear  to  tell  'em  go,  nohow  I  wouldn't  trust  nc 


IDA     MAY.  131 

massa ;  but  some  time,  if  you  find  somebody  else  dat  s  kind  to 
yer,  and  speaks  pleasant,  like  dat  young  gen'leman  did  last 
night,  den  you  jest  show  'em  dis  yer  piece  ob  rag,  and  tell  'em 
how  you  had  it  on,  and  old  Benus  saved  it  for  you,  and  den 
see  what  dey  say  'bout  it.  I  dono',  but  it 's  'vealed  into  me 
dat  dis  yer  rag  will  be  de  mean  o'  findin'  yer  friends  and 
'lations  for  ye,  when  yer  poor  ole  mauma  's  sold  away  off  from 
yer." 

"  0,  mauma,  don't,  don't !  I  can't  live  without  you  !  "  ex. 
claimed  the  child,  throwing  herself  on  that  faithful  bosom, 
with  a  burst  of  tears,  as  these  parting  instructions  caused 
every  other  emotion  to  vanish  in  the  vivid  fears  they  aroused, 
that  she  was  indeed  about  to  lose  her  only  friend.  , 
12 


CHAPTER    VII 

'   All  things  are  weighed  in  custom's  falsest  scale, 
Opinion  is  omnipotence,  whose  veil 
Mantles  the  earth  with  darkness,  until  right 
And  wrong  are  accidents,  and  men  grow  pale 
Lest  their  own  judgments  should  become  too  bright, 
And  their  free  thoughts  be  crimes,  and  earth  have  too  much  light. 

CHILDE  HAROII>. 

THE  plantation  of  Richard  "Wynn,  Esq.,  was  situated  some- 
where in  the  green  and  beautiful  Palmetto  State.  After 
passing  for  miles  along  the  flat  and  sandy  road,  the  traveller 
was  gladdened  by  the  neat  white  gateway,  shaded  by  a  splen- 
did magnolia,  that  opened  into  a  broad  avenue,  curving  away 
to  the  south,  leading  toward  the  house  which  gleamed  white 
in  the  distance  through  its  embowering  trees.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  gate  lay  the  plantation,  acre  upon  acre,  stretching 
far  away,  the  dead  level  unbroken  by  a  single  fence  or 
tree. 

A  southern  planter  once  said  to  a  traveller,  "I  can't 
Conceive  how  you  invest  your  money  at  the  north.  He*  e  a 
man's  riches  consist  in  lands  and  niggers."  Thus,  over  the 
vast  space  we  have  described,  were  scattered  in  rows  and 


IDA    MAT.  18S 

groups,  the  other  available  property  of  this  rich  man — crea- 
tures to  be  bought  and  sold,  and  worked  and  whipped,  and 
treated  in  all  respects  as  animals  in  which  property  has  been 
invested.  As  the  eye  rests  on  them,  one  feels  tempted  to 
exclaim  with  Macbeth, 

"  What  are  these, 

So  wretched,  and  so  wild  in  their  attire, 
That  look  not  like  inhabitants  of  earth, 
And  yet  are  of  it  1 " 

See  the  heaps  of  coarse  and  dirty  rags  that  cover  them,  or 
nutter  about  in  the  wind,  as  if  they  were  so  many  animated 
scarecrows.  Perhaps  they  lift  their  eyes  a  moment  to  gaze 
at  you,  but  they  pause  not  in  their  monotonous  toil ;  for, 
sitting  on  horseback  at  a  little  distance,  armed  with  his  long 
whip,  they  know  the  overseer  is  watching  them,  and  he  is 
quick  to  mark  any  idleness,  and  they  fear  the  penalty  if  their 
daily  task  be  not  accomplished.  These  creatures  are  not  the 
sleek,  careless,  intelligent  negroes  of  story  and  song.  Dis- 
gustingly filthy  and  squalid  in  their  attire,  their  faces  have 
only  a  sullen,  idiotic  expression,  and,  though  they  are  not 
emaciated,  their  skin  seems  hard,  and  flabby,  and  wrinkled, 
as  if  the  juices  of  their  bodies  had  been  dried  up  by  the  corn 
meal  on  which  they  are  fed.  If  you  should  visit  that  row  of 
whitewashed  huts,  under  the  trees,  half  a  mile  distant,  you 
would  see  no  gardens  around  them,  no  poultry  crowding  the 
doors,  for  Mr.  Wynn  never  interferes  with  the  government, 
of  his  overseer ;  and  the  overseer  is  a  shrewd,  thrifty  man,  who 
vrill  allow  the  negroes  no  such  excuses  for  neglecting  their 


134  IDA     MAY. 

work.  All  the  strength  they  have  to  labor  they  owe  to  the 
master  who  has  bought  and  paid  for  it  at  the  highest  market 
price ;  and  all  the  time  they  spend  in  care  for  themselves 
is  so  much  stolen  from  him.  And  as  for  the  negroes,  they 
have  plenty  of  corn  to  eat,  and  they  may  sleep  as  soundly  as 
they  please  from  late  in  the  evening  till  dawn,  and  they 
have  two  suits  of  strong  clothes  a  year,  which  ought  to  keep 
them  comfortable,  and  if  they  will  be  careless  and  improvi- 
dent they  ought  to  suffer  from  want,  but  their  masters  must 
not  be  blamed.  And,  indeed,  who  shall  in  any  way  blame 
Mr.  Wynn's  trusty  and  well  managing  overseer  ?  If  one  of 
the  wealthiest  men  in  the  state  can,  with  impunity,  starve  his 
negroes  nearly  to  death,  in  an  economical  attempt  to  feed 
them  on  cotton-seed,  and  if  the  governor  habitually  disre- 
gards the  law  that  provides  to  each  negro  four  pounds  of  meat 
weekly,  and  only  allows  them  meat  during  the  festivities  of 
the  Christmas  holidays,  who  can  expect  public  opinion  to 
lean  so  far  towards  benevolence  and  indulgence,  that  its  voice 
shall  call  upon  any  merely  private  individual  to  recognize  his 
negroes  as  carnivonus  animals,  —  especially  while  bacon  ia 
growing  higher  in  the  market  every  year  ? 

But,  leaving  these  wretched  beings,  whose  present  con- 
dition and  whose  future  fate,  both  as  regards  themselves  and 
their  country,  it  is  alike  painful  to  contemplate,  let  us  pro 
ceed  along  th£  avenue  towards  the  spacious  and  eleganl 
family  mansion1.  How  cool  and  pleasant  is  the  shade  of  the 
lofty  trees  on  either  side,  and  how  gracefully  their  trunks 
and  branchef  are  overgrown  and  festooned  with  the  wild  rose. 


IDA     MAT.  loC 

—  now  past  the  seasou  of  its  blossoming,  —  the  ivy  and  the 
oullace  vines,  whose  ripe  berries  gleam  amid  their  green 
leaves!  Passing  the  end  of  the  house,  where  they  have 
attempted  to  atone  for  the  inhospitable  southern  custom  ol' 
turning  the  chimney  out  of  doors,  by  covering  it  with  running 
roses,  some  of  which  have  climbed  even  to  the  roof,  we  follow 
the  sudden  sweep  of  the  path  round  the  corner,  and  find 
ourselves  in  front  of  a  large  building,  two  stories  high,  and 
shaded  above  and  below  by  a  double  piazza,  which  surrounds 
it  on  three  sides.  At  the  further  end,  but  hidden  from  view 
by  a  high,  vine-covered  lattice,  are  the  kitchen  and  other 
buildings  that  make  up  the  domestic  menage  of  a  wealthy 
southerner,  and  from  the  front  piazza  the  land  slopes  gently, 
covered  with  its  primitive  growth  of  lofty  pines,  beneath 
whose  shadow  may  be  seen,  here  and  there,  a  specimen  of  the 
Black  Jack,  —  a  kind  of  dwarf  oak,  whose  smooth  shining 
leaves,  just  putting  on  their  autumn  livery  of  golden  brown, 
deserve  a  more  dignified  appellation. 

The  season  was  now  far  advanced ;  the  sultry  heats  of 
•Summer  had  given  place  to  that  delightful  temperature  when 
the  mild  sunshine  and  the  delicious  airs  seem  to  woo  man  to 
a  perpetual  holiday,  and  make  the  simple  sensation  of  life  a 
luxury.  The  smouldering  embers  in  the  fireplaces  showed 
that  the  early  morning  had  been  cool ;  but  the  windows  and 
Aoors  were  all  open,  and  idly  lounging  on^he  "jiggling- 
>oard,"  that  stood  upon  the  piazza  at  the  end  of  the  house, 
might  at  this  hour  have  been  seen  the  form  of  Walter  Varian. 
tn  fact  he  was  seen  by  all  who  were  near  enough  to  see  him  , 


136  IDA     MAY. 

for,  though  it  must  be  confessed  he  was  lounging,  there  was 
about  the  boy  a  restless  activity;  both  of  mind  and  body,  that 
made  itself  manifest  wherever  he  might  be,  and  seldom 
Allowed  his  tongue  or  his  limbs  to  remain  so  long  quiet  that 
any  one  could  become  olTvious  of  his  presence.  And  few 
woul  1  object  to  this  consciousness ;  for  there  was  such  a  bright 
and  genial  air  about  him,  such  a  nobleness  in  his  lithe  form 
and  his  irregular  but  handsome  features,  such  a  fearless  light 
in  his  clear  brown  eyes,  such  kindly  independence  in  his  firm 
voice  and  his  linging  laugh,  and  such  careless  grace  in  hi: 
movements,  and  even  in  the  waving  of  his  soft,  luxuriant 
chestnut  hair,  which  was  never  smooth  for  five  consecutive 
minutes  during  his  whole  life,  that  Walter  Varian's  presence 
was  like  sunshine  in  any  house,  carrying  life  and  animation 
wherever  he  went. 

*  Near  him,  just  inside  the  window,  where  the  sunlight 
which  was  flickering  down  on  the  piazza  through  sprays  of 
rose-leaves  and  vines  that  shadowed  it,  might  not  fall  too 
braumingly  upon  her  fair  face,  sat  his  cousin,  Mabel  "VVynn. 
She  was  at  this  time  just  entering  the  "teens;"  and  though 
girls  at  that  age  are  usually  in  the  transition  stage,  when  hair 
that  has  always  hung  down  revenges  itself  for  being  turned 
up  and  imprisoned  in  combs,  by  making  the  neck  seem  long 
and  ungraceful,  and  the  shoulders  high,  and  when  hands  and 
feet  are  useless  encumbrances,  which  it  is  distressing  to  b« 
obliged  to  take  care  of  in  company,  still  the  heiress  of  Wynn 
Hall,  conscious  of  beauty  and  wealth,  carried  her  haughty 
little  head  as  high,  and  moved  with  as  much  grace,  as  one 


114     MAY.  137 

could  desire  to  seo.  She  wari,  indeed,  very  beautiful,  with 
features  of  faultless  symmetry,  eyes  of  the  deepest  and  most 
celestial  blue,  fringed  by  long,  dark  lashes;  and  the  broad 
mazarine  blue  ribbons,  that  fastened  the  silken  braids  of  her 
light  hair,  served  to  set  off  the  alabaster  purity  of  her  com- 
plexion. She  was  dressed  in  a  light  plaid  silk,  that  left 
bare  her  snow-white  neck  and  arms ;  and,  as  she  leaned  back 
in  the  depths  of  a  large  easy-chair,  her  delicate  hands  were 
idly  playing  with,  and  pulling  to  pieces,  a  large  bouquet  of 
late-blooming  roses. 

"  See  there,  now,  how  you  are  tearing  the  flowers  I  took  so 
much  pains  to  gather  and  arrange  for  you  this  morning ! "  said 
Walter,  as  he  saw  her  employment. 

"  Well,  I  have  nothing  else  to  do,"  replied  the  little  lady, 
with  a  slight  toss  of  her  head ;  "  and  roses  are  not  so  great  a 
rarity  that  I  should  be  so  very  choice  of  them." 

"  Roses !  no,  indeed ;  but  to  think  that  my  gift  should  be 
ranked  with  common  flowers !  Beside,  see  what  a  htap  of 
them  you  are  scattering  on  the  floor,"  added  he,  with  a  little 
confusion  at  the  smile  that  curled  the  lip  of  his  uncle,  who 
heard  his  attempt  at  gallantry. 

"  0,  that  makes  no  matter !  "  replied  Mabel ;  "  Rose  can 
sweep  them  up  again ;  she  has  nothing  else  to  do.  But  I 
thought  you  and  Uncle  Charles  were  going  shooting  this 
morning." 

"  So  we  art,  if  he  ever  gets  ready.  He  went  some  time 
%go  to  order  a  lunch  before  we  started,  but  neither  Charles* 
nor  the  lunch  seems  to  b.~  forthcoming.  0,  I  mistake  •' 


138  IDA     MAY. 

Please  consider  that  last  sentence  retracted,  taken  back,  never 
uttered,  for,  lo !  in  the  distance  I  see  Alfred  approaching,  — 
Alfred  the  Great,  —  and,  behold,  he  beareth  cakes  that  are  iwt 
burnt,  and  wine  that  maketh  glad  the  heart  of  man,  and 
bread  the  staff  of  life,  and  bacon  which  in  this  southern 
country  may  be  called  the  terra  firma  on  which  that  staff  is 
supposed  to  rest.  Come,  Alfred,  draw  the  little  table  out 
here,  and  sot  your  waiter  down,  and  then  go  and  tell  Master 
Charles  that  his  presence  is  requested  on  the  south  piazza." 

These  last  words  were  addressed  to  a  tall,  handsome  mu- 
latto boy,  whose  intelligent,  good-natured  face  and  neat  attire 
at  once  prepossessed  the  beholder  in  his  favor. 

"  Yes,  Mass'  Walter,''  he  said  with  a  smile,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded to  do  as  he  was  told,  "  Mass'  Charles  would  n't  let  mo 
clean  the  gun,  and  he  say  he  be  done  cleaning  himself  by 
'leven,  but  the  clock  done  struck  'leven  some  time  ago,  and  he 
hard  at  work  yet." 

"  Go  tell  him  the  luncheon  is  waiting  to  be  eaten,  and  the 
partridges  are  waiting  to  be  shot,  and,  what  is  more  important 
than  all,  Jam  waiting,  though  neither  to  be  shot  nor  eaten," 
replied  Walter,  laughing ;  "  and  say  to  him,  also,  it  is  my 
humble  opinion  that  if  he  spends  all  day  in  cleaning  his  gun, 
it  will  be  dark  before  he  will  be  able  to  use  it." 

Alfred  gave  a  quick  glance  of  intelligence  and  affection  at 
the  pleasant  face  that  was  turned  towards  him,  and  withdrew 
noiselessly,  to  carry  the  message.      The    smile  faded  from 
Walter's  lips  as  he  looked  after  him,  and  hn  said  carelessly 
as  he  turned  again  to  his  cousin, 


IDA     MAY.  13& 

"  Alfred  is  a  handsome,  bright-looking  fellow.  It 's  almost 
a  pity  he  is  n't  going  to  be  a  man  when  he  grow?,  up." 

Mabel  lifted  her  li  3ad,  an J  opened  her  ^arge  eyns  in  a  kind 
of  wonder.  ."  What  in  the  world  will  he  be,  if  he  is  n't  a 
man  ?  "  she  said. 

"  O,  a  chattel  personal,  a  boy,  an  animal,  —  anything  else 
you  please,  but  never  a  man.  Old  Homer  says, 

'  "Whatever  day 
Makes  man  a  slave,  takes  half  his  worth  away  ;' 

and  it  is  as  true  now  as  in  the  days  of  the  glorious  old  Greek, 
that  a  slave  can  never  be  a  man." 

"  You  should  have  given  that  quotation  in  the  original ;  it 
would  have  sounded  more  learned"  said  Mabel's  father,  scorn- 
fully, without  looking  up  from  his  book ;  and  Mabel  herself 
replied,  with  a  pretty  indignation, 

"  I  don't  think  Alfred  would  thank  you,  if  he  heard  you 
calling  him  that.  If  you  could  only  know  how  fond  he  is  of 
us  all,  and  so  proud  of  belonging  to  our  family  !  <Et  is  really 
laughable  to  see  the  scorn  with  which  they  all  look  down 
on  a  family  of  free  negroes  in  the  neighborhood.  Beside,  you 
have  no  right  to  call  them  such  names  as  you  have  whenever 
you  have  spoken  about  them  since  you  came  back ;  papa  says 
that  is  n't  the  proper  term  at  all.  They  are  servants,  —  ser 
vants  held  to  labor,  —  that 's  what  they  are  called  in  the  const  i- 
tution  of  the  United  States,  and  that's  what  they  are-  and 
it 's  only  the  vulgar  Yankees  that  call  them  anything  else." 
And  tho  girl  sank  bock  in  her  chair,  and  folded  her  hands  as 


140  IDA     MAT. 

if  she  had  settled  the  question,  and  there  was  no  appeal  from 
her  decision. 

But  Walter  replied,  with  most  irreverent  nonchalance,  as 
he  carved  the  bacon,  "Because  they  are  not-called  by  the 
right  name  in  the  constitution,  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not 
use  the  right  term  in  speaking  of  them.  They  are  slaves,  and 
what 's  the  use  of  mincing  the  matter  ?  If  a  man  is  n't  free, 
—  if  ho  don't  own  his  wife,  or  his  children,  or  Cven  his  own 
tiands  and  feet,  —  he's  a.  slave;  and  that's  quite  a  different 
thing  from  simply  being  a  servant." 

"  Free,  indeed ! "  replied  Mabel,  her  ruby  lip  curling  in 
great  scorn ;  —  "  how  ridiculously  you  talk,  Cousin  Walter ! 
How  fine  it  would  be  to  send  off  the  plantation  people  into 
the  free  States  !  They  don't  know  how  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves a  day,  and  as  for  the  house  servants,  they  would  n't  bo 
free  if  they  could,  —  you  may  ask  any  of  them." 

"  Ask  them  !  "  replied  Walter.  "  That  would  be  equal  to 
the  farce  of  taking  Daniel  Webster  to  a  certain  plantation, 
where  everything  had  been  prepared  beforehand,  and  telling 
him  he  might  ask  any  questions  he  pleased,  and  find  out  for 
himself  just  how  the  negroes  were  treated.  There  is  n't  a 
mother's  son  among  them  but  has  wit  enough  to  know  what 
answer  to  make  to  anybody  his  master  allows  to  question 
iim.'? 

"  What  an  absurd,  vulgar  manne:  you  have  acquired  of 
talking  on  this  subject ! "  said  Mr.  Wynn,  laying  down  hia 
book,  and  drawing  his  chair  nearer  to  the  window,  as  he  saw 
his  daughter  was  at  a  loss  for  a  reply.  "  One  would  think 


I  T>  A     MAY.  141 

you  were  some  ignorant  northern  abolitionist,  instead  of  hav« 
ing  been  born  and  raised  at  the  south,  and  well  acquainted 
with  our  domestic  institution  from  your  infancy." 

"  Your  pardon,  uncle  ;  but  it  is  we,  who  are  born  and  raised 
among  servants,  that  are  ignorant,  and  not  the  northern  aboli- 
tionists. I  dare  affirm,  that  a  person  who  sat  down  intelli- 
gently to  think  what  human  nature  is,  and  who  remembers 
how,  throughout  all  history,  unlimited  power  has  always  been 
'abused  and  who  reflects  on  the  degradation  and  deceit  of  the 
one  class,  and  the  pride,  and  impatience,  and  evil  passions, 
that  may  with  impunity  be  exercised  by  the  other  class,  —  1 
say  such  a  man,  if  he  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  a  slave, 
would  have  a  more  correct  idea  of  wha|  slavery  must  be,  than 
the  most  of  those  who  are  educated  to  believe  themselves 
born  to  a  state  of  society  that  must  continue,  and  accepting 
it  as  it  is,  to  see,  and  hear,  and  know  as  little  about  it  as 
possible." 

Mr.  "Wynn  had  been  fidgeting  in  his  chair,  with  difficulty 
refraining  from  interrupting  his  nephew.  Now,  however,  he 
broke  out  in  a  tone  of  scornful  anger  : 

"0,  yes  !  no  doubt  you  dare  affirm  a  great  many  other 
things  on  the  subject  as  foolish  as  this  last  wild  proposition 
has  been ;  but  I  beg  you  won't  make  my  house  the  scerc  of 
such  nonsense." 

"  I  will  not  insist  upon  offensive  epithets,"  said  Walter  ; 
"  but  pray,  uncle,  allow  me,  before  you  seal  my  lips  in  silence, 
to  tell  you  how  it  happens  that  I,  born  and  raised  among  ser- 
vants, as  you  say,  have  ro  suddenly  changed  my  sentuients  ic 


142  IDA    MAY. 

regard  to  them  :  and  if  I  am  wrong,  do  convince  me  of  it,  for 
I  assure  you  I  find  my  present  feelings  most  uncomfortably 
at  war  with  my  pecuniary  interests.  In  truth,  when  I  first 
went  to  college,  I  was  the  most  surprised  and  indignant  youth 
alive,  at  the  stories  poured  into  my  ears  respecting  the  rela- 
tion between  master  and  servant, —  horrible  stories  of  cruelty 
and  tyranny,  such  as  it  would  make  your  blood  run  cold  to 
hear.  But  to  my  surprise  I  found,  after  the  strictest  inquiry, 
that,  as  far  as  human  evidence  can  establish  anything,  the. 
most  of  these  stories  were  facts,  —  yes,  and  some  of  them  had 
occurred  in  this  very  State,  but  I  had  never  heard  of  them 
before.  Then  I  insisted  that  these  were  but  isolated  instances, 
and  that  the  great  majority  of  masters  were  kind,  and  the 
servants  generally  perfectly  contented  and  happy ;  and  to  this 
there  came  a  reply  drawn  from  the  sensitiveness  of  the  whole 
south  in  regard  to  this  subject ;  —  the  anger  with  which  we 
repel  the  slightest  inquiry  into  our  domestic  management ;  the 
care  we  take  that  our  servants  should  not  converse  with 
strangers,  either  those  of  their  own  color  or  white  men,  or 
even  talk  with  our  own  neighbors  about  home  affairs ;  the 
vigilance  committees  we  establish,  and  the  strictness  of  our 
laws,  and  the  insult  and  even  personal  injury  which  those 
have  experienced  to  whom  suspicion  has  attached  of  coming 
among  us  with  sentiments  inimical  to  our  beloved  '  institu- 
tion.' One  day,  in  a  general  conversation,  a  man  said  to  me, 
1  It  is  not  possible  that  such  a  state  of  things  should  be,  if 
you  did  not  all  know  that  this  is  a  magazine  that  must  not 
t>e  entered  with  a  lighted  lamp.  Depend  upon  itj  my  dear 


IDA     MAY.  143 

fellow,'  said  he,  '  if  there  was  not  something  everywh^r e  to 
conceal,  there  would  be  somebody  who  would  be  willing  to 
come  to  the  light ;  and,  though  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  igno- 
rant of  it,  there  have  probably  events  happened  in  your  home 
neighborhood,  or  perhaps  on.  your  own  plantation,  that  would 
not  read  well  in  a  newspaper,  even  with  the  fairest  construc- 
tion. I  mean  no  offence,'  he  continued,  '  but  human  nature  is 
the  same  everywhere,  and  though  there  are  noble  exceptions 
in  which  man  is  better  than  human  nature,  generally  speak- 
ing tyranny  is  and  must  be  the  result  of  unlimited  power , 
and,  for  my  part,  I  don't  see  why  you  don't  acknowledge  it. 
I  could  never  understand,'  said  he,  '  why  southerners,  who  are 
determined  to  keep  their  slaves,  and  make  the  best  of  it,  don't 
say  right  out  that  they  make  stringent  laws  because  they  are 
afraid  to  give  the  negroes  the  least  liberty,  lest  there  should 
be  an  insurrection  ;  and  they  will  not  have  them  talked  to  by 
strangers,  because  they  don't  wish  them  to  get  an  idea  that 
anybody  regards  them  otherwise  than  as  slaves,  lest  it  should 
increase  their  present  discontent.  This  would  at  least  com- 
mand respect.  But  it  is  an  insult  to  common  sense  to  be 
told  the  negroes  are  perfectly  contented  and  happy,  and  well 
treated,  and  yet  forbidden  to  have  anything  to  say  to  them 
upon  their  own  condition.'  " 

"  The  insolent  Yankee  ! "  exclaimed  Mabel,  with  flashing 
eyes  ;  "  why  did  n't  you  shoot  him,  Walter,  on  the  spot  ?  " 

"  I  did  try  to,"  replied  her  cousin,  half  laughing,  and  with 
heightened  color  in  his  check.  "  That  is,  I  was  angry 
enough  to  do  it ;  and,  taking  the  best  means  I  then  knew  to 
13 


144  IDA     MAT. 

revenge  the  insult  I  thought   I  had   received,  I  sent  him  * 
challenge." 

"  You  did !  Did  he  accept  it  ? "  >.sked  Mabel,  leaning 
forward  with  great  interest  and  pride  in  her  cousin. 

"No;  he  meant  nothing  personal,  —  he  was  only  talking. 
But  1  was  unused  to  free  disc'ossion  ;  we  have  n't  much  of  it 
down  here,  you  know,"  he  added,  with  a  sly,  momentary 
glance  at  his  uncle. 

"  But  how  could  he  refuse  a  challenge  ? "  said  Mabel 
"  The  coward  !  I  suppose  he  did  n't  dare  fight !  " 

"  Not  so  fast,  coz,  —  he  was  no  coward.  I  had  always 
liked  him  before  that,  and  he  is  a  splendid  fellow ;  you  would 
like  him  yourself,  if  you  knew  him ;  —  he  ranks  '  number  one ' 
in  the  class." 

"  He  was  a  coward,  for  all  that,  if  he  would  n't  fight," 
replied'  Mabel ;  "  and  it 's  strange  you  don't  think  so.  I  hope, 
at  least,  you  horsewhipped  him,  —  the  poltroon  !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  your  ladyship,"  said  Walter, 
smiling  ;  "  but  though,  regardless  of  Dr.  Watts'  advice,  I  let 
my  '  angry  passions  rise,'  he  was  as  cool  as  the  coldest  ice- 
cream you  ever  tasted,  and  as  sweet,  and  proved  as  effica- 
cious in  cooling  the  fever  of  my  blood.  You  will  laugh  when 
I  tell  you  how  he  answered  my  challenge.  It  was  not  ten 
minutes  after  I  had  sent  it,  before  George  Hunter  himself,  — 
the  very  man  against  whom  I  had  been  breathing  out  slaugh- 
ter,—  entered  the  room." 

"  Was  it  George  Hunter,  the  friend  y>u  have  been  writ 


IDA    MAY.  145 

ing  about  so  enthusiasticly  for  the  last  year  ?  exclaimed 
Mabel. 

"  The  very  same,"  replied  Walter.  "  He  came  in,  and 
walked  straight  up  to  the  side  of  the  table  against  which  I 
was  leaning  with  both  elbows,  and,  speaking  in  a  pleasant  and 
yet  dignified  tone,  —  for  he  has  a  great  deal  of  dignity,  —  ho 
said,  '  I  am  sor  y,  Varian,  that  you  should  have  thought  I 
meant  to  insult  you  in  my  remarks  this  morning.'  —  '  That  is 
nothing  here  nor  there,'  said  I,  fierce  as  a  turkey-cock ;  '  I 
did  think  you  meant  to  insult  me,  and  I  still  think  so,  and 
now  the  question  between  us  had  better  be  left  to  others.  I 
have  sent  my  friend  to  your  room,  and  I  suppose  you  have 
referred  him  to  yours,'  I  added,  pointedly.  He  smiled  a 
little.  He  was  some  years  older  than  I,  and  I  know  must 
have  been  a  little  amused  at  my  vehemence,"  added  Walter, 
to  whom  the  year  that  had  elapsed  since  the  time  referred  to 
had  brought  so  much  wisdom  and  knowledge,  that  he  was  able 
to  smile  at  his  boyish  folly. 

"He  had  no  right  to  laugh  at  you,"  said  Mabol.  "I 
don't  see  how  you  could  bear  it,  after  his  other  insult.' 

"  0,  he  did  n't  laugh  at  me;  he  was  perfectly  respectful," 
replied  Walter ;  "  and  there  was  something  in  his  manner 
that  calmed  me  in  spite  of  myself.  For  a  moment,  he  did 
not  answer  me,  and  then  he  said  he  had  rather  peculiar 
notions  about  fighting.  If  I  insisted  upon  it,  he  would  try 
to  give  me  all  the  satisfaction  it  would  afford  me  to  shoot  at 
him,  but  he  had  not  the  least  desire  to  shoot  me,  so  that  it 
was  not  at  all  necessary  for  him  to  consult  any  friend  upon 


146  IDA     MAY. 

the  subject.  Well,  this  was  rather  a  novel  way  of  putting 
it,  and  I  was  a  little  puzzled  what  to  say,  for  I  had  been 
with  him  iu  the  shooting-gallery,  and  I  knew  h3  was  a  bet- 
ter shot  than  I  was  —  so  the  advantage  was  on  his  side  if 
he  had  chosen  to  fight.  As  I  did  not  answer,  he  went  on  to 
say  that  he  might  be  mistaken  about  it,  but  it  seemed  to  him 
quite  likely  I  could  talk  with  him  upon  the  subject  ia  dis- 
pute as  rationally  and  as  satisfactorily  with  my  own  lips  as 
through  the  mouth  of  a  pistol,  and  he  was  sure  my  arguments 
would  be  quite  as  well  received ;  and  though  knock-dawn  ar 
guments  were  sometimes  conclusive,  he  hardly  thought  the 
fact  of  having  shot  at  him  would  be  admitted  in  the  debating- 
club  as  proof  that  I  was  right  and  he  was  wrong.  Well,  you 
know  I  am  good-natured  enough  when  the  first  flash  is  over ; 
and  there  was  no  great  need  of  a  quarrel,  after  all,  for  I 
could  n't  help  owning  to  myself  that  he  had  as  much  right  to 
his  opinion  as  I  had  to  mine ;  and  so  we  talked  a  while,  and 
then  shook  hands  upon  it,  and  have  been  good  friends  ever 
since." 

"  That  is  a  pretty  story  you  have  been  telling  !  "  said  Mr. 
»Vynn,  in  a  tone  of  careless  scorn.  "  I  don't  wonder,  after 
hearing  such  a  confession,  that  you  are  not  ashamed  to  have 
adopted  that  young  man's  opinions." 

Walter  bit  his  lip,  and  cast  down  his  eyes  a  moment.  He 
had  a  habit  of  blushing  when  strongly  excited,  and  now  his 
jheek  an  I  brow  were  flooded  with  the  crimson  tide  that  welled 
ip  from  his  loudly  throbbing  heart,  for  he  was  just  at  the 
ige  when  the  imputation  of  cowardice  is  felt  derpjy,  and 


IDA     MAY.  147 

those  taunting  words  had  wounded.  "  I  did  not  adopt  hia 
opinions,"  he  said  firmly,  after  a  little  pause,  "  until  I  had 
become  convinced  that,  on  most  subjects,  he  judged  rightly, 
and  I  think,  when  thus  convinced,  I  showed,  full  as  much  wis- 
dom in  adopting  them  as  I  should  if  I  had  murdered  him  for 
differing  from  me." 

At  this  retort  Mabel  gave  a  start,  and  a  half-frightened 
glance  towards  her  father,  for  he  was  a  man  to  whose 
reproofs  his  family  were  not  accustomed  to  hear  bold  replies. 
A  quiet  and  scholarly  gentleman,  spending  most  of  his  wak* 
ing  hours  in  his  library,  he  could,  when  he  chose,  be  delight- 
fully gracious,  and  even,  at  times,  familiar  with  those  around 
him;  but  let  anything  happen  to  offend  him,  and  he  was 
positively  awful.  He  did  not  say  much,  but  he  used  immedi- 
ately to  retire  behind  his  spectacles,  and  through  them,  as 
through  the  embrasure  of  a  fortress,  he  sent  such  glances  as 
were  more  powerful  than  any  argument  in  silencing  and  con 
founding  the  daring  rebel,  or  the  rash  opponent.  He  was  a 
very  tall,  angular-looking  man,  and  his  German  descent  might 
be  traced  in  his  large  bones,  his  firmly-set  jaw, — which  a  long, 
thin  red  beard  covered,  as  with  a  fiery  halo, —  his  square  face, 
light  hair  and  light  blue  eyes ;  but  every  peculiarity  of  form 
or  feature'was  lost  to  one  who  endured  that  stony  gaze,  and 
all  his  six-feet  altitude  seemed  covered  and  concealed  by  thos* 
spectacles,  behind  which  he  had  impregnably  entrenched  him 
self.  The  story  of  the  Gorgon  was  no  longer  a  myth  to  the 
anfortunate  offender  in  such  times  ;  and  self-possessed,  indeed, 
must  he  be  who  could  retain  the  power  of  speech,  or  remem 
13* 


148  IDA     MAI. 

I 

jor  what  he  wished  to  say,  many  moments  after  those  cold 
fes  had  assumed  that  peculiar  and  fixed  expression. 

But  Walter  was  now  aroused,  and,  secure  in  his  con 
sciousness  of  right,  he  found  himself  on  this  occasion,  almost  to 
his  own  surprise,  enduring,  unmoved,  the  petrifying  glance 
that  was  now  bent  upon  him.  Turning  to  Mabel,  he  saiil 
calmly,  and  with  a  secret  delight  at  thus  defying  the  relative 
whom  he  had  always  feared,  rather  than  loved,  "  To  return 
from  this  digression,  it  was  in  consequence  of  what  I  heard  at 
*fhe  north,  from  sober  and  sensible  men,  that  I  determined  to 
open  my  eyes  and  see  for  myself.  Last  year  I  was  prevented 
by  that  fever  I  went  through  with  ;  but  this  year  I  carried 
out  my  intention  as  far  as  possible,  which,  to  be  sure,  is  not 
very  far, for  all  imaginable  impediments  and  deceits  are  thrown 
in  the  way  of  an  impartial  inquirer.  I  made  the  tour  on 
horseback,  that  I  might  be  able  to  diverge  into  the  byways 
and  small  towns  ;  but  I  often  met  with  suspicion,  and  some- 
times almost  with  insult.  It  was  decidedly  the  '  pursuit  of 
knowledge  under  difficulty  , '  and  once  it  was  only  by  being 
able-  to  satisfy  the  hotel-keeper  that  I  was  a  Carolinian, 
and  had  the  honor  to  be  connected  with  the  Wynn  family, 
that  I  escaped  being  ordered  out  of  town,  as  the  penalty  of 
my  imprudence." 

"  Served  you  right,  too,"  said  Mr.  Charles  Maynard,  who 
had  joined  them  in  time  to  hear  Walter's  last  remark,  and 
saw,  by  a  glance  at  the  face  of  his  brother-in-law,  how  matters 
stood.  "Served  you  right,  Sir  Spy  all,"  he  repeated  pleas- 
antly, as  he  seated  himself  before  the  table,  where  stood  the 


IDA     MAY.  149 

untasted  luncheon,  and  then,  half  turning  to  Mr.  Wynn,  he 
added,  with  a  comical  twist  of  his  features,  "  We  must  n't  be 
too  severe  on  him,  though,  brother  Richard.  You  know  he 's 
young.'' 

"  He  's  old  enough  to  know  better  than  to  talk  such  arrant 
nonsense,"  replied  Mr.  Wynn,  gruffly. 

''  O  young  men  of  his  temperament  always  pass  through  a 
fever  of  enthusiasm !  It  is  a  necessity  of  their  nature,  as 
much  as  the  measles,  or  the  chicken-pox.  He  '11  get  over  it ; 
there  's  nothing  like  age  and  experience,  and,  above  all,  some 
personal  interest  in  having  tbe  established  order  of  things 
continue,  to  reconcile  a  man  to  the  existing  mode  of  life. 
He  '11  be  a  violent  conservative,  as  soon  as  he  gets  hold  of  the 
plantation  at  Oaklands ;  see  if  you  don't,  sir ! "  he  added, 
nodding  with  twinkling  eyes  at  his  nephew. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  replied  Walter,  good-naturedly,  "  but  1 
don't  believe  I  shall  change  my  sentiments  on  this  subject  if  I 
live  to  be  as  old  and  gray  as  the  most  venerable  rat  about  the 
premises." 

"  Well,  come  now,  eat  your  luncheon,"  said  Mr.  Maynard, 
'•'  or  those  partridges  will  get  tired  of  waiting,  and  fly  oft7  before 
we  get  ready  to  shoot  them.  You've  lost  an  hour  here 
now." 

"  /  've  lost  it  ?  "  replied  Walter,  laughing ;  "  I  was  waiting 
for  you.  Now  we  are  on  the  subject,  I  just  want  to  tell  you 
one  thing,  to  show  how  ignorant  the  whites  are  of  the  manner 
in  which  the  negroes  are  treated,  even  in  their  immediate 
aeighborhood,  or  else  how  shamefully  they  will  lie  about  it 


150  IDA      MAY. 

I  had  been  told,  everywhere  through  Virginia,  that  whipping 
was  an  almost  unheard-of  thing ;  and  at  last  one  man  told  mo 
that  he  had  n't  known  of  a  nigger  being  tied  up  and  whipped 
for  ten  years,  anywhere  about  there.  Well,  the  next  day  1 
had  a  good  chance  to  examine  the  whipping-post  in  that  very 
town,  and  just  for  curiosity  I  touched  it  with  my  fingers,  and 
instead  of  being  dry  and  rusty  as  they  would  have  been  if 
unused  for  any  length  of  time,  the  irons,  where  the  wrists 
are  fastened,  and  the  front  of  the  post  where  the  body  presses, 
were  all  smooth  and  greasy  with  the  sweat  and  fat  of  the 
poor  fellows."  . 

"  Ugh !  "  exclaimed  Mabel,  with  an  expression  of  disgust, 
•'how  can  you  say  such  things  ?  How  horribly  vulgar  !  " 

"  How  horribly  wrong !  "  rejoined  Mr.  Maynard,  half 
seriously  and  half  in  fun.  "  Why,  Walter,  you  've  come  to 
be  a  second  edition  of  Paul  Pry,  enlarged,  if  not  improved. 
What  right  have  you  to  poke  your  sacrilegious  fingers  into  the 
bleeding  wounds  of  your  country,  and  tear  them  open  in  this 
way  ?  Don't  you  know  you  are  endangering  the  Union  ? 
Eat  your  luncheon,  boy,  and  don't  get  puffed  up  with  the  idea 
that  you  were  born  to  correct  all  the  abuses  in  Christendom, 
for  I  don't  believe  you  have  any  such  mission.  Eat  you- 
luncheon,  and  then  acknowledge  that  you  never  thought  of 
being  so  philanthropic  till  you  fell  in  love  with  that  pretty  little 
girl  on  the  mountain." 

"  What  nonsense !  "  said  Walter  "  But  she  was  a  little 
beauty,  and  I  say  it 's  a  shame  — " 

"Hush,  now!  no  more  of  that."  interrupted  Mr.  Maynard, 


I  D  A     II  A  Y .  151 

throwing  a  tin}  piece  of  bread  across  the  table,  directly 
against  his  nephew's  lips.  If  Charles  Maynard  had  lived  to 
be  a  hunlred  years  old  he  would  always  have  been  something 
of  a  boy. 

"  Well,  I  will  say,  she  was  too  pretty  for  a  servant,"  per- 
sisted Walter,  laughing ;  "  and  yet  it  was  n't  so  much  her 
face  as  her  musical  voice  and  her  grace  of  manner  that  inter- 
ested me.  Sport  knows  —  don't  you,  Sport  ?  "  he  continued, 
addressing  the  dog,  who  lay  on  a  mat  near  him. 
•  "  If  Sport  does  know,  he  won't  tell,"  said  Mabel,  desiring  to 
turn  the  conversation  from  a  subject  that  had  so  offended  her 
father.  "  He  has  grown  to  be  terribly  lazy  since  he  came 
down  with  you.  He  won't  move  unless  he  is  compelled,  and 
he  sleeps  day  and  night." 

"  He  is  mighty  still,  indeed,"  said  her  Uncle  Charles.  "  It 
was  so  bright,  last  night,  that  I  expected  certainly  to  have 
heard  him ;  but  he  seems  to  have  even  given  up  his  favorite 
habit  of '  making  night  hideous,'  by  baying  the  moon." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  Walter,  patting  the  dog,  who,  finding 
himself  the  object  of  remark,  began  to  rub  his  nose  with  his 
huge  paws,  and  stretch  himself,  and  cast  side-glances  from  the 
corn3rs  of  his  eyes,  in  a  manner  that  caused  a  general  laugh 
fronv.  all  the  group  except  Mr.  Wynn,  who  rose  and  retired  to 
his  study,  deeming  this  the  more  dignified  way  of  withdrawing 
the  artil'ery  that  had  for  once  proved  ineffectual  to  silence  the 
offender.  Sport  was  the  most  affectionate  animal  ever  known  ; 
Lut  it  was  impossible  to  see  him  endeavor  to  return  caresses, 
wilhout  thinking  o"  the  fable  of  the  donkey  that  would  be  a 


152  IDA     MAY. 

lap-dog.  "  Poor  fellow  !  "  repeated  Walter,  "  he  is  com- 
pletely tired  out.  The  journey  was  too  much  for  a  gentleman 
of  his  years,  and  it  has  fairly  given  him  the  rheumatism 
His  joints  are  so  stiff  he  can  hardly  move." 

"  I  should  n't  think  the  rheumatism  would  affect  his  voice," 
said  Mabel.  "  Pinch  his  ears,  Walter,  and  make  him  say 
something.  I  should  like  to  hear  one  of  those  long,  musical 
howls  that  used  to  run  through  all  the  notes  of  the  scale." 

"  Howl !  you  don't  mean  to  say  Sport  howls  !  "  exclaimed 
Walter.  "  Why,  he  is  a  splendid  singer.  I  pretend  to  be  a 
judge  of  music,  and  I  'd  put  him  against  any  '  Tenore '  in  the 
world.  If  you  could  only  have  heard  him  sing  '  auld  lang 
syne '  on  the  college  green  at  the  last  commencement.  He 
completely  drowned  the  voices  of  the  graduating  class,  on  the 
chorus.  Can't  you  give  us  a  specimen  now,  old  fellow  ?  "  he 
added,  pulling  one  of  the  dog's  long,  silky  ears.  But  Sport 
only  replied  by  an  expressive  glance,  and,  giving  an  immense 
yawn,  turned  over,  as  if  to  compose  himself  to  sleep. 

"  It  is  no  use ;  he  wont  display  his  acquirements,"  said 
Mr.  Maynard,  shrugging  his  shoulders  ;  "  and  if  he  has  tho 
rheumatism  he  ought  to  be  excused.  It  is  not  a  musical 
disease." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that ;  it  is  apt  to  bring  out  the 
chzrds"  replied  Walter ;  at  which  his  unck  ..tughed,  and,  as 
Alfred  just  then  came  along  the  piazza  with  their  guns,  powder- 
flasks  and  other  accoutrements,  the  two  gentlemen  arose,  and 
leaving  the  dog,  who  could  not  be  enticed  from  his  mat,  they 
sauntered  forth  down  the  path  that  led  info  the  valley. 


IDA      MAY.  153 

The  beauty  of  the  day,  and  the  hope  of  finding  game, 
tempted  them  to  spend  several  hours  in  wandering  beneath  the 
green  fcrest  arches,  and  over  the  levels  and  hollows  where 
their  feet  trod  softly  upon  fallen  pine  leaves  and  the  dry  silver 
sands  that  everywhere  cover  the  surface  of  that  ancient  sea- 
border,  "  and  from  which,  by  some  unknown  and  wondrous 
alchemy,  these  lofty  pines  draw  the  rich  and  odorous  gums 
with  which  they  overflow.  But  the  covey  of  partridges, 
which,  the  day  before,  when  he  walked  without  his  gun,  had 
persisted  in  tantalizing  him  by  keeping  directly  in  his  path, 
now  very  provokingly  refused  all  further  acquaintance  with 
Walter,  and,  after  a  circuit  of  some  miles,  they  were  return- 
ing homeward,  entirely  unsuccessful,  when  suddenly  Dash,  a 
little  spaniel  who  had  followed  them  from  the  house,  stopped, 
and  commenced  barking  furiously  at  the  foot  of  a  large  pine, 
which  was  nearly  bare  of  branches  for  thirty  feet  from  the 
ground. 

They  were  weary  with  their  long  ramble,  and  it  was  late  in 
the  afternoon,  so  they  tried  to  call  off  the  dog;  but  no  —  he 
would  stay  there,  and  he  would  bark ;  and  he  kept  it  up  so 
long  and  so  pertinaciously,  throwing  himself  nearly  off  his 
feet  in  the  violence  of  his  demonstrations,  that  their  curiosity 
was  aroused,  and  Walter  proposed  that  he  should  "  shin  "  up 
the  tree,  and  see  what  there  was  there  to  justify  Dash's  ex- 
treme excitement. 

"  The  tree  is  a  pretty  tall  one,  and  hard  to  climb,"  said 
Mr.  Maynard,  measuring  it  with  his  eye ;  "  but  I  see  a 
hollow  up  there  between  the  lower  branches,  and  if  you  choosy 


104  IDA     MAY. 

to  risk  your  neck  to  gratify  your  curiosity,  I  won't  object  tt 
sitting  down  on  this  log  to  rest  myself  while  you  do  it." 

"  I  '11  try  it,  any  way ;  there  may  be  something  there  worth 
havingj'and,  at  any  rate,  Dash  seems  to  think  so.  Come  on, 
then,  Dash,  I  '11  climb,  and  you  bark,  and  see  which  of  us  will 
get  tired  of  the  tree  first ;  "  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  threw  off  his 
shooting-jacket  and  made  a  dash  at  the  sturdy  old  monarch 
of  the  woods. 

After  infinite  toil,  and  not- a  few  slips  and  scratches,  he 
managed  to  reach  the  lower  branches,  and,  seating  himself 
astride  one  of  them,  was  about  to  thrust  his  hand  into  the  hole 
to  ascertain  what  might  be  there,  when  a  slight  movement 
within  arrested  his  attention,  and  he  drew  his  face  suddenly 
back,  as  a  huge  black  snake  darted  his  head  out  with  a  loud 
hiss  at  the  intruder.  "  Confound  the  dog  !  "  he  exclaimed ; 
and  then,  instantly  recovering  from  the  first  shock  of  surprise, 
before  the  creature  had  time  to  withdraw  itself,  he  seized  it 
firmly  by  the  neck,  and,  with  a  quick  motion,  jerked  it  from 
its  nest  and  flung  it  down  to  the  ground.  "  There,  Dash," 
said  he,  "  if  that  is  what  you  were  making  such  a  fuss  about, 
take  it." 

His  uncle  could  not  hear  his  words,  but  he  saw  the  motion, 
ind  sprang  up  in  amazement  as  the  snake  fell  at  his  feet. 
Fhen  bursting  into  a  laugh,  at  the  idea  ot  taking  so  much 
oains  for  such  a  prize,  in  which  he  was  joined  by  Walter, 
From  nis  elevated  seat,  Mr.  Maynard  set  the  dog  on  the  snake, 
who  was  gliding  quietly  away,  and  Dash  revenged  himself 
and  his  master,  by  shaking  and  biting  it  until  it  was  dead. 


IDA     MAT.  155 

Having  reached  the  foround  in  safety,  bi  t  with  no  very  exalted 
opinion  of  the  sagacity  of  his  canine  companion,  Walter  was 
just  putting  on  his  coat,  when  they  were  both  startled  by  loud 
screams,  that  seemed  to  come  from  a  spot  not  very  far  dis- 
tant. 

In  some  parts  of  Carolina  there  are  rounded  and  elongated 
hills  of  slight  elevation,  which  it  is  easy  to  see  were  once 
islands,  by  the  worn  pebbles  and  debris  with  which  their 
steep  sides  are  sometimes  covered,  and  by  the  cliff-like  shapes 
in  which  the  retiring  waters  have  in  other  places  worn  the 
clay,  which  lies  many  feet  in  thickness  beneath  the  sand  that 
covers  their  flattened  tops,  and  has  been  washed  down  into 
the  shallow  vales  that  wind  between  them.  In  these  valleys 
and  bowl-shaped  depressions  are  many  clear  springs  of  water 
that,  during  the  short  course  they  run  before  losing  themselves 
in  the  loose  soil,  moisten  the  roots  of  various  kinds  of  hard- 
wood trees,  oaks,  elms,  and  walnut,  that  are  usually  overrun 
with  various  luxuriant  flowering  or  fruit-bearing  vines.  In 
the  spring,  especially,  while  the  woods  are  filled  with  the 
delicious  fragrance  of  the  yellow  jasmine,  one  can  hardly  im- 
agine a  more  beautiful  picture  than  these  valleys  present, 
filled  as  they  are  with  a  soft,  green  light,  and  bright  with 
flowers,  and  echoing  with  the  songs  of  birds ;  and  if  the  vista 
be  enlivened,  as  usual,  with  a  group  of  negro  women,  singing, 
or  talking,  or  scolding,  over  their  washing  arsund  the  spring, 
and  children,  most  picturesquely  primitive  in  their  habili- 
ments, bringing  broken  branches  and  pieces  of  "  fat-wood  "  to 
feed  the  fire  beneath  the  large  kettles  where  the  clothes  are 
14 


156  IDA    MAT. 

boiling  nothing  seems  wanting  to   jomjlete  tie  picturesque 
effect.  , 

Through  these  woods,  feeding  plentifully  upon  fallen  nuts 
and  the  "  mast "  of  the  pine  burrs,  there  wander  droves  of 
swine,  of  all  colors  and  sizes.  Their  roving  life  renders  them 
almost  as  swift  and  agile  as  goats ;  and  sometimes  the  males 
will  resent  any  annoyance  most  fiercely.  They  nave  often 
been  known  to  attack  smaller  animals,  or  children,  who  came 
in  their  way,  and  the  tusks  that  have  been  taken  from  some 
of  them  are  long  enough  and"  sharp  enough  to  have  graced  the 
heads  of  their  ferocious  ancestors,  the  wild  boars  of  Europe. 

The  shrieks,  which  Mr.  Maynard  and  his  nephew  still  con- 
tinued to  hear,  directed  their  steps  to  the  brow  of  the  eleva- 
tion whereon  this  little  scene  of  the  snake  hunt  had  occurred 
and,  looking  down  into  the  valley,  they  saw  plainly  the  cau? 
of  the  outcry.  One  of  these  wild  swine  had  attacked  a  littc 
girl,  who  had  escaped  him  only  by  springing  upon  the  rugged 
stump  of  a  tree  that  had  been  blown  down.  There  she  was 
one  or  two  feet  above  his  reach,  but  the  stump  was  old  and 
rotten,  and  the  standing-place  insecure.  The  enraged  animal 
had  already  with  his  tusks  torn  into  splinters  the  bark  around 
the  root,  and  was  now  tearing  off  long  pieces  of  the  decayed 
wood,  and,  though  the  child  still  balanced  herself,  her  footing 
was  every  moment  growing  fearfully  uncertain. 

Without  waiting  for  a  moment's  thought.  Walter,  who  hr.d 
left  his  gun  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  he  had  climbed,  seized  a 
stick,  and,  leaping  down  the  steep  bank,  ran  to  the  spot, 
followed  by  the  valiant  Dash  and  Mr.  Maynard.  Fortu- 


IDA    MAY.  157 

nately  this  last  gentleman  had  his  gun  in  his  hand  when  he 
was  first  startled  by  the  child's  screams,  and,  still  retaining  it 
ready  loaded,  reached  the  scene  of  action  in  time  to  take  an 
unerring  aim  directly  into  the  face  of  the  boar,  who,  diverted 
from  his  first  charge  by  their  approach,  had  killed  poor  Dash 
by  piercing  him  to  the  heart  with  one  blow  of  his  tusk,  and, 
having  snapped  in  pieces  the  stick  with  which  Walter  de- 
fended himself,  might  have  injured  him  severely,  had  not  Mr. 
Maynard  come  to  the  rescue.  The  charge  of  small  shot,  with 
which  the  gun  was  loaded,  of  course  did  not  kill  the  animal, 
but  it  blinded  him  so  completely  that  it  was  easy  to  keep  out 
of  his  way  till  the  piece  could  be  again  loaded  with  a  bullet, 
which  soon  laid  him  on  the  ground  in  a  death  struggle. 

This  being  done,  Walter  hastened  to  the  place  where  the 
child,  half-fainting  with  terror,  had  sunk  down  at  the  foot  of 
the  stump.  She  was  dressed  in  soiled  and  torn  clothing,  and, 
as  her  head  rested  on  her  hands,  a  coarse  muslin  sun-bonnet 
hid  her  face.  Laying  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  stooping 
down,  he  said,  kindly,  "  Are  you  hurt,  little  girl  ?  Look  up 
and  tell  me  your  name." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  child  started,  and,  looking 
up,  eagerly  seized  his  hand,  exclaiming,  "  It  is  you  !  O,  how 
I  did  hope  we  should  find  you  !  " 

"  Is  it  possible  ? "  exclaimed  Walter,  at  the  same  moment. 
"  Why,  Lizzy,  can  this  be  you  ?  Are  you  a  witch  or  a  fairy, 
child,  that  you  thus  appear  to  me  all  alone  in  the  woods  ?  If 
your  adventure  with  the  pig  had  not  been  so  entirely  human, 
I  should  be  almost  afraid  of  you,"  he  added,  laughing. 


t'>8  IDA     MAT. 

But  Lizzy  did  not  laugh  in  return.  Her  large  Drown  eyea 
filled  with  tears,  and,  still  grasping  his  hand  in  both  her  own 
she  said,  "0  Mastsr  Walter  Varian,  we  have  been  sold,  and 
we  are  going  to  some  dreadful  place,  and  you  said  —  "  The 
words  died  away  in  a  convulsive  sob,  a:d  the  tears  ran  down 
over  her  pale  cheeks ;  but  those  wild,  melancholy  eyes  were 
still  fixed  imploringly  on  his  face,  as  if  to  remind  him  of  tho 
promise  she  hardly  had  the  courage  to  claim. 

"I  said  I  would  help  you,  and  I  will  if  I  can,  —  don't 

• 
cry,"  replied  Walter,  cheerfully,  and,  turning  to  his  uncle, 

who  had  stopped  to  look  at  Dash,  and  was  now  approaching, 
he  added,  "  Whom  do  you  think  we  have  saved  ?  It  is  my 
mountain  maid,  my  woodland  nymph,  —  it  is  the  little  girl  J 
told  you  of.  Come  and  see  her." 

A  change  had  come  over  Ida  during  the  few  weeks  that 
had  elapsed  since  their  first  meeting.  The  excitement  and 
variety  that  had  so  suddenly  succeeded  to  the  monotony  of 
her  former  life,  had  roused  her  mind  to  unusual  vigor.  Her 
face  had  lost  its  quiet  and  dreamy  expression,  and  her  eyes 
bad  a  restless,  searching  glance  of  inquiry  and  of  fear.  Yet, 
despite  the  poverty  and  disorder  of  her  attire,  she  was  still 
uncommonly  beautiful,  and,  from  the  moment  he  saw  her, 
Mr.  Maynard  was  as  much  charmed  with  her  appearance  as 
his  nephew  had  been.  She  still  retained  her  hold  of  Walter's 
hand,  and  now,  half-sitting,  half-crouching,  at  his  feet,  she 
looked  searchingly  into  the  face  of  the  new  comer,  as  if  to 
tead  what  influence  'ie  might  exert  on  her  future  fate. 

"  She  is  a  delicate-looking  child,  —  too  delicate  to  bear  rough 


IDA     MAY.  159 

asagi.     How  came  she  here  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Maynard,  after  a 
moment's  silent  scrutiny. 

"  She  says  she  has  been  so.i  from  her  former  master," 
replied  Walter.  "  Tell  us  about  it,  Lizzy.  How  came  you 
here  ? " 

"  They  are  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill,"  answered  the 
child,  reassured  by  his  kind  manner,  "  and  Maum  Venus  was 
so  tired  and  thirsty  I  came  down  to  the  spring  to  get  some 
water.  Then  I  saw  those  pretty  red  berries,  —  pointing  to  a 
holly-bush  not  far  distant,  —  and,  when  I  came  to  get  them, 
the  pig  chased  me." 

"  And  you  were  frightened,  and  jumped  on  the  stump,  - 
poor  child  !     Well,  you  were  in  some  danger,"  said  Walter. 
':  But  tell  me,  how  happened  you  to  be  sold,  and  where  are 
you  going  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Ida,  simply.  "  They  said  Mass' 
James  wanted  to  raise  money,  and  so  he  sold  us,  —  Maum 
Venus  and  I,  and  seven  more  niggers.  A  trader  bought  us, 
and  we  'vc  come  ever  so  far.  0,  I  'm  so  tired,  and  so  is 
Venus  !  "  and  she  sighed  heavily. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  Walter,  pityingly,  "  did  you  walk  all 
the  way  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Ida.  "  Maum  Venus  walked,  but  sometimes 
he  let  me  ride.  The  children  took  turns  in  riding  with  him 
in  the  wagon.  The  wagon  got  broke  to-day,  and  that '.«  the 
-oason  we  'camped  so  early." 

"  And  are  you  going  much  further  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Maynard. 

'  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  caild,  her  tear?  again  flowing. 
14* 


1 60  I  D  A     M  A  Y  . 

'  Maum  Venus  says  we  '11  all  be  sold  again  before  long,  and 
she  thinks  we  '11  go  to  some  dreadful  sugar  plantation,  or 
somewhere  else,  where  I  can't  be  with  her." 

"  Poor  child  !  don't  cry ;  I  '11  see  what  can  be  done,"  re 
turned  Walter ;  and  then,  addressing  his  uncle,  he  added 
"  It  will  never  do  to  let  this  child  be  exposed  to  the  chances 
of  a  public  sale.  There  is  probably  a  large  gang  of  them,  as 
they  have  been  driven  so  far,  and  I  don't  doubt  the  trader 
tfill  be  glad  to  sell  this  one." 

"  And  you  ntean  to  buy  her  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Maynard,  mus- 

Jgly. 

"  Yes,  I  want  to,"  said  Walter ;  "  that  is,  of  course,  with 
all  due  deference  to  you  as  my  guardian.  I  know  I  am  not 
rich,  but  I  must  be  allowed  this  piece  of  extravagance." 

"  You  can't  afford  it,"  replied  the  uncle ;  "  but  I  have  never 
denied  you  anything  since  the  night  you  cried  for  the  moon, 
when  you  were  a  '  two-year-old,'  and  I  suppose  it 's  hardly 
worth  while  to  begin  now.  I  will  make  the  bargain  with  the 
fellow,  who  I  see  is  coming  after  his  stray  goods.  I  can  do 
the  thing  better  than  you  can." 

Walter  looked  up  the  valley  as  his  uncle  spoke,  and  saw 
the  driver  approaching.  He  was  a  short,  thick-set  man,  with 
a  brutal  expression,  and  his  bloated  face  gave  token  that 
he  sometimes  indulged  in  beverages  stronger  than  water. 
The  child  shrank  closer  to  her  protector  as  she  saw  him  com- 
ing near,  and  exclauned,  in  a  frightened  whisper.  "  0,  see, 
he 's  got  his  whip  in  his  hand,  —  he  's  angry  because  I  've 
been  gene  so  long!  Don't  let  him  whip  me,  will  you,  — be 


IDA     MAY.  161 

baats  the  a  dreadfully  sometimes,  when  he's  angry, —  sec 
there ! "  and,  raising  her  arm,  she  showed  a  cut,  several 
inches  in  length,  where  the  lash  had  fallen,  through  her  torn 
sleeve. 

•'  Did  he  whip  you  ?  "  cried  Walter,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  No,"  replied  Ida,  "  but  he  whipped  mauma,  cause  he 
said  she  was  always  lagging  behind ;  and  I  put  my  arms 
round  her,  and  so  he  hit  me.  Poor  mauma  was  sick,  and 
could  n't  walk  fast." 

Walter  bit  his  lip  to  keep  down  the  indignation  he  felt ; 
and  the  driver,  corning  up  at  this  moment,  put  out  his  hard 
hand  to  seize  the  child,  saying,  as  he  did  so, 

"  Here  you  are,  then,  you  little  runaway ;  what  you  been 
gone  so  long  for  ?  —  come  along  now !  "  But  Walter,  by  a 
quick  movement,  placed  himself  between  the  slave-driver  and 
his  trembling  victim  ;  and  Mr.  Maynard,  touching  his  arm, 
drew  him  a  little  aside,  and  demanded  what  he  would  take 
for  the  child.  It  made  little  difference  to  the  man  where  or 
when  he  sold,  provided  he  could  get  a  good  price  for  his 
slaves,  and  as  Mr.  Maynard  was  acquainted  with  the  market 
value  of  such  articles,  it  was  not  long  before  a  transfer  was 
effected ;  for,  having  determined  to  buy  the  child,  the  worthy 
purchaser  felt  no  disposition  to  hold  long  parley  with  the 
man,  whose  coarse  jokes  and  allusions  to  what  Ida  would 
soon  be  worth  as  a  "  fancy  girl,"  aroused  disgust  and  anger. 

Meantime,  Walter  had  remained  beside  Ida  ;  and  soon  his 
undo  returned  to  where  they  were  standing.  "I  have  bought 


162  IDA     MAY. 

her  for  you,"  he  said ;  "  but  you  will  have  to  pay  five  hun- 
dred dollars  for  her." 

"  So  much  !  "  returned  the  nephew.  "  Well,  it  will  be 
worth  that  to  be  able  to  do  what  I  want  to  for  her.  You 
belong  to  me,  now,  Lizzy.  You  shan't  be  treated  badly  any 
more." 

"  0,  how  good  you  are  !  "  cried  the  child,  her  expressive 
face  glowing  with  thankfulness  and  joy.  "  And  Venus  too  ! 
have  you  bought  mauma.,  too  ?  '•  •  she  added,  eagerly. 

At  this  question,  Walter  looked  rather  blank,  for,  as  he 
had  said,  he  was  not  rich,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  already 
reached  the  extent  of  his  ability.  But  Mr.  Maynard  said, 
;vith  an  expressive  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 

"  Venus  too  !  —  0  no,  indeed  !  Where  were  you  raised, 
child,  that  you  have  so  little  idea  of  the  value  of  money  ? 
A  man  can  afford  to  expend  five  hundred  dollars'  worth  of 
generosity,  upon  a  rare  occasion ;  but  a  thousand  or  fifteen 
hundred,  that 's  a  tune  of  another  metre.  You  must  be  sat- 
'jfied  with  being  well  off  yourself,  and  let  Venus  go." 

At  these  words  a  shadow  fell  over  the  child's  beaming  face, 
and,  after  a  moment's  silence,  she  slowly  dropped  Walter's 
hand,  which  she  had  not  released  until  now,  since  che  first 
seized  it,  and  turning  slowly  away,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  she  began  to  walk  up  the  valley. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  criod  Walter,  a  little  disap- 
pointed at  this  movement. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the  child  turned  round,  and  still 
walking  slowly  backwards,  she  said, 


IDA     MAY.  163 

I  'm  going  jack  to  Maum  Venus.  Perhaps  somebody 
else  will  buy  us  together." 

';  And  won't  you  go  with  me  unless  I  buy  Maura  Venus 
too  ?  "  said  Walter,  a  little  piqued. 

His  tone  touched  the  feelings  of  the  sensitive  child,  and 
running  to  him  she  again  seized  his  hand,  and,  pressing  it  to 
her  lips,  she  exclaimed, 

"  0,  yes !  Don't  be  angry  with  me.  I  shall  always  think 
you  are  the  best  man  that  ever  lived,  but  I  can't  leave 
mauma.  It  won't  make  much  difference  to  you,  but  I  am 
all  she  has  got  in  the  world ;  and  she  says  she  shall  die  if 
I  'm  sold  away  from  her.  Don't  be  angry  with  me.  I  must 
go  back  to  mauma." 

"  No  you  don't  do  no  such  thing  !  "  said  the  driver,  now 
coming  forward  and  laying  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "  I 
a'n't  going  to  have  you  kicking  up  sich  a  bobbery  as  ther  '11  be 
if  she  finds  you  're  sold.  I  don't  'low  no  sich  fooling.  A 
bargin  's  a  bargin,  and  now  the  gents  has  bought  you,  they 
must  keep  you." 

"  You  might  at  least  allow  her  to  go  back  and  say  good- 
by,  and  get  her  clothes,"  said  Mr.  Maynard.  "  She  must 
have  something  more  decent  than  these  rags,  has  n't  she  ?  " 

"  No  she  ha'n't,  nother,"  replied  the  man.  "  I  don't  low 
my  niggers  to  tire  ?mselves  with  carryin'  sich  a  bundle  V 
truck  as  th? oa  gals  ;  Mr.  Bell's  brung  with  'em.  The  clo'sc 
they  has  on,  gen'ly  *asts  'em  till  they*gets  to  market,  and 
then  them  that  buys  'em  must  give  'em  somethm'  to  put  on. 
So  I  allers  takes  awaj  their  clo'se  and  sells  'em  fore  I  start 


id4  IDA  m  i  Y  . 

Sometimes  these  'Ginia  niggers  has  fust-rate  clo'se,  and  bring* 
me  in  consid'able." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Walter,  impatiently,  "it  will  do  no 
harm  for  her  to  bid  Maum  Venus  good-by." 

'  Yes  't  will,  too !  "  replied  the  driver.  "  I  never  'lows  no 
sich  things  as  good-bys.  If  the  niggers  gets  an  idee  that 
you  're  goin'  to  look  out  for  their  feelin's  the  least  bit,  why, 
they  're  all  over  your  head  in  a  minute.  You  jist  has  to  put 
'em  down,  and  keep  'em  down"  he  added,  stamping  his  foot 
heavily  on  the  ground,  as  if  he  were  crushing  something. 
"  You  see,  gents,  it.  is  very  different  with  us  traders  from 
what  it  is  with  you  that  lives  on  plantations.  The  niggers 
gets  kind  o'  settled  down  like,  and  feels  at  home,  and  is  more 
contented,  so  you  can  'ford  to  let  'em  have  feelin's  if  they 
wants  to.  But  us  that  jist  buys  and  sells,  we  can't  'low  no 
sich  nonsense,  for  they  nat'ly  makes  a  fuss  'bout  leavin'  their 
old  masters,  and  their  'lations,  and  children;  and  if  we  'lowed 
'em  to  make  a  fuss,  they  would  n't  be  fit  to  travel.  Now  be 
patient,  gents,  and  I  '11  tell  you,"  he  added,  as  Mr.  Maynard 
was  about  interrupting  him.  "  You  see  that  'ar  Venus  is 
powerful  tender  on  that  child,  and  if  they  bids  each  other 
good-by,  and  all  that  stuff,  she  '11  make  sich  a  devil  of  a  fuss, 
that  she  won't  be  fit  to  travel  to-morrow,  and  she  '11  lag  be- 
hind and  hender  the  whole  gang.  But  if  she  finds  it  out 
gradual,  and  don't  see  no  more  of  her,  she  won't  realize  it  so 
much,  and  I  shan't  have  no  trouble  with  her.  That 's  the 
way  with  niggers.  While  a  thing  's  happenin'  they  makes  a 
powerful  fuss,  but  when  it  s  over  and  they  know  it 's  did  and 


IDA     MAY.  165 

;t  can't  be  undid,  why  then  they  settle  down  quiet,  and  a'n't 
no  trouble." 

"  Nevertheless,''  said  Walter,  impatiently,  "  the  child  wanta 
to  see  her  mauma  again,  and  I  say  she  shall,  —  come,  Lizzy,'' 
He  took  her  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  was  leading  her  away 
but,  with  a  brutal  oath,  the  trader  sprang  before  him  in  the 
path,  exclaiming, 

"  I  say  she  shan't  then.  She  belongs  to  you,  but  Venus 
belongs  to  me  ;  and  now  I  should  like  to  know  how  you  're 
going  to  help  yourself  ? " 

Walter  was  about  making  an  angry  reply,  when  the  discus- 
sion was  cut  short  by  the  approach  of  the  object  of  dispute  ; 
for  Venus,  becoming  alarmed  at  the  child's  prolonged  absence, 
had  managed,  unobserved,  to  leave  the  group  of  slaves,  who 
were  sitting  and  lying  together  beneath  the  trees  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hill,  guarded  by  one  of  the  traders.  The  moment 
she  saw  her,  Ida  dropped  Walter's  hand,  and,  like  a  bird 
darting  into  her  nest,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  bosom  of 
that  faithful  friend,  and,  clasping  her  hands  around  her  neck, 
burst  into  a  flood  of  passionate  tears. 

"  0,  honey,  I 'se  powerful  scared  'bout  you,  —  where  ye 
been?"  said  Venus,  gazing  with  surprise  at  the  two  strangers, 
the  angry  face  of  her  master,  and  the  dead  animals  that  lay 
near. 

"There,  now,  I  telled  you  so,"  said  the  driver,  as  he  saw 
this  act ,  "  ther  '11  be  an  awful  fuss  to  get  'em  apart  now ! '' 
Then,  turning  to  Venus,  he  raised  his  whip  threateningly,  and 
said,  "Look  here  now — you  jest  let  go  o'  that  gal,  and  go  back 


166  IDA     MAY. 

where  you  came  from.  You.  a'n't  no  business  here ;  and  that 
gal 's  sold  to  these  gents,  and  you  a'n't  got  nothin'  more  to  do 
with  her." 

With  a  deep  groan,  Venus  staggered  back,  and  would  have 
fallen  to  the  ground  but  for  the  tree  that  stood  directly  be- 
hind her.  Her  arms  dropped  helplessly  from  that  little 
clinging  form,  and  her  face  fell  forward  on  the  child's  head 
that  lay  on  her  breast.  The  blow,  which  for  three  weeks  she 
had  been  fearing,  had  fallen  at  last,  and  for  a  moment  all 
was  darkness  and  blindness.  In  a  little  while  the  faintness 
passed  away,  but  she  made  no  further  outcry,  and  shed  no 
tears.  Her  sorrow  was  too  stern  and  crushing  for  any  such 
outward  demonstration ;  but  it  seemed  to  her  that  an  iron 
hand  had  seized  her  heart,  and  was  wringing  thence  the  last 
drops  of  her  life-blood.  Sinking  slowly  down  against  the 
trunk  of  the  tree,  as  if  her  limbs  had  lost  their  strength,  she 
drew  the  child  down  to  the  ground  with  her ;  and,  sitting 
there,  she  rocked  her  body  to  and  fro,  as  she  bent  over  her, 
and  uttered  a  low,  inarticulate,  murmuring  sound,  so  expres- 
sive of  anguish  that  it  touched  even  the  obdurate  feelings  of 
the  slave-trader,  and,  dropping  the  whip  he  had  raised  to 
strike  her,  he  stood  gazing  at  her  in  silence. 

"  I  can't  stand  this  any  way,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Maynard, 
impatiently,  after  a  painful  pause  of  a  few  moments.  "  Either 
you  must  take  back  the  child,  or  you  must  sell  me  the 
woman.  I  won't  be  instrumental  in  such  cruelty  as  this." 

The  trader  was  not  so  far  overcome,  but  that  he  was 
as  much  on  the  alert  for  •' a  trade"  as  ever.  Morcover.be 


IDA     MAY.  167 

was  a  little  frightened.     One,  who  seemed  to  know  every 
phase  of  human  feeling,  has  said, 

"  The  grief  that  docs  not  speak, 
Whispers  the  o'er-fraught  heart  and  bids  it  break  ;  " 

and  this  man  had  once  before  seen  just  such  an  exhibition  of 
intense  agony,  on  the  part  of  a  mother,  whom  h,e  had  parted 
from  her  only  child ;  and  in  that  case,  the  sale  being  com- 
pleted, and  the  child  taken  away,  the  mother  dropped  dead  at 
his  feet.  It  was,  therefore,  with  no  little  pleasure  that  he 
found  the  prospect  of  a  like  disastrous  issue  for  his  presen* 
speculation  averted  by  this  proposition  of  Mr.  Maynard,  * 
he  quickly  replied  by  asking  what  he  would  give  for  Ven* 

"  She  looks  like  an  old  woman,"  replied   Mr.   Maynau. 
•'you  could  not  get  more  than  five  hundred  dollars  for  her." 

"  Say  six  hundred,  and  you  shall  have  her,"  said  the 
trader,  quickly.  He  had  discovered  that  Venus  was  nearly 
blind  of  one  eye,  and  he  thought  he  was  making  a  good  trade, 
Mr.  Maynard  was  careless  about  money,  and  too  much  ex- 
cited now  by  his  compassionate  feelings  to  make  any  very 
particular  examination  of  the  "  article  "  he  was  purchasing  ; 
and,  using  the  top  of  the  stump  for  a  table,  he  gave  his  note 
for  the  amount,  and  then  hastily  went  towards  the  place 
where  they  were  sitting,  for  he  had  drawn  a  little  aside  in 
concluding  the  bargain. 

Venus  looked  up  when  he  touched  her  shoulder,  for  she 
thought  he  meant  to  take  away  her  darling,  and,  clasping  her 
yet  closer  in  her  arms,  she  said  in  low,  husky  tones,  "  Who  is 
it  honey,  that 's  bought  ye  ?  " 
15 


H)S  I  P  A      M  A  Y  . 

"  It 's  Master  Walter  Varian,  the  good  young  man  I  told 
you  about,"  replied  the  child.  "  O,  ask  him  to  buy  you,  too! " 

"  T  a'n't  no  use,"  said  Venus,  shaking  her  head  despair- 
ingly ;  "  but,  0,  honey,  't  a'n't  quite  so  bad  to  have  you  go, 
if  he  '11  only  treat  you  well  J  " 

"Don't  you  understand,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  "that  I  ve 
bought  you  ?  and  you  shan't  be  separated  from  the  child." 

She  had,  indeed,  been  unconscious,  deafened  by  misery, 
while  this  change  in  her  fate  was  being  effected,  and  now  she 
seemed  unable  to  realize  the  great  and  sudden  joy.  "  Me .' 
did  you  say  me?"  she  cried  in  a  shrill  voice.  "0,  God  !  did 
ne  say  he  'd  bought  me  too  ?  And  may  I  go  with  Lizzy  ? 
0,  massa,  you  would  n't  be  joking  with  a  poor  old  nigger 
woman  that  has  her  heart  almost  broke !  "  she  added,  looking 
earnestly  in  his  face. 

"  No,  I  am  not  joking,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  kindly. 
"  Come,  get  up  and  come  along  now,  for  it 's  getting  late,  and 
we  've  had  no  dinner." 

Venus  rose  from  the  ground  at  these  words,  with  the  child 
still  clinging  around  her ;  but,  as  her  new  master  was  about 
turning  away,  she  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and,  clasping  her 
hands  as  if  in  prayer,  she  exclaimed,  "  I  calls  down  de  bless- 
ing ob  de  Lord  on  you,  out  of  heaven,  and  'twill  do  ye  good, 
if  't  is  a  poor  old  creatur'  brings  it.  You  shan't  neber  havo 
casion  to  be  sorry  for  this  thing  you  've  did,  massa,  —  neber 
I  '11  work  for  you  mornin'  and  night,  and  if  ye  a'n't  got  nothin1 
for  me  to  do,  ye  may  hire  me  out,  —  yo  may  do  any  airthly 
thing  ye  want  to  wid  me  massa,  if  I  can  on'y  see  my  Lizzy 


IDA     MAY.  169 

ebery  day,  and  know  how  she's  comin'  on.  0,  massa,  d«s 
Lord  bless  ye  !  Ye  can't  tell  no  thin'  'bout  what  dat  child  is 
to  me.  I  'se  lost  husband,  and  chillen,  and  eberything,  and 
she  's  instead  ob  'em  all." 

"  Well,  that  '11  do  now.  Come  on,  we  're  getting  late," 
said  Mr.  Maynard;  but  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  as  he 
turned  away,  and,  linking  his  arm  in  his  nephew's,  they  went 
•jj)  from  the  little  valley  in  the  path  that  led  homeward,  with 
Venus  and  Lizzy  following  at  a  little  distance  behind. 


CHAPTER    V.II. 

"  Now,  the  soul  alone  is  willing, 

Faint  the  heart  and  weak  the  knee, 

And  as  yet  no  lip  is  thrilling 
AVith  the  mighty  words, « Be  free.' 

Tarrieth  long  the  land's  good  angel, 

But  his  advent  is  to  be."  J.  G.  WHITTIER 

"  I  DON'T  know  but  we  have  done  a  foolish  thing,"  said  Mr. 
Mayaard  at  length,  to  his  nephew,  as  they  walked  along. 
"  What  shall  we  do  with  these  new  possessions  of  ours,  I 
wonder  ?  The  fact  is,  I  do  hate  to  feel  badly,  and  I  can  never 
see  anybody  in  distress  without  doing  all  I  can  to  help  them 
It's  foolish,  I  know." 

"  It  is  a  folly  which  becomes  a  wise  man  more  than  all  hia 
wisdom,"  said  Walter,  pressing  his  uncle's  arm  affection 
ately. 

"  Thank  you,  but  it 's  a  folly  nevertheless,  and  a  misfortune 
too ;  for  there  is  so  much  distress  in  the  world  that  one  can't 
relieve,  that  the  little  one  can  do  seems  of  no  use.  For  that 
reason  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  go  where  people  are  in 
trouble,  if  I  can  help  it.  I  can't  even  live  on  my  own  estate. 
[  tried  it  awhile ;  but,  as  I  said  before,  I  hate  to  feel  badly, 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  171 

and  there  were  so  many  troubles  always  occurring,  that  1 
couldn't  help,  that  I  gave  it  up." 

"  You  did  n't  give  up  the  plantation ! "  cried  Walter,  in 
amazement. 

"No;  but  I  gave  up  living  at  home.  After  your  poor 
mother  died,  the  place  grew  too  lonely,  so  I  got  an  overseer, 
whom  I  knew  I  could  trust,  and,  having  made  a  calculation, 
and  found  how  much  the  place  would  bring  yearly,  with  the 
negroes  well  fed  and  moderately  worked,  I  told  the  over- 
seer I  wanted  so  much,  and  he  might  have  good  wages,  if 
he  'd  carry  on  things  just  to  suit  me,  and  take  the  whole 
charge." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  place  great  power  in  the  hands 
of  your  overseer,"  replied  Walter,  gravely.  "  What  if  he  is 
a  dishonest  man,  and,  giving  you  only  the  sum  you  fixed  upon, 
works  the  people  to  death,  to  make  as  much  more  for  him- 
self? " 

"  0,  he  don't,  I  reckon,"  said  the  uncle.  "  I  run  down 
upon  him  when  he  least  expects  me,  and  take  a  gallop  round 
the  place  to  see  that  the  general  aspect  of  things  is  right. 
I  won't  have  any  cruelty,  and  he  knows  it ;  but  otherwise  I 
don't  interfere  with  the  plantation  discipline." 

"  But  you  are  here  at  Uncle  Richard's  much  of  the  time 
You  must  see  some  things  here  that  go  wrong,  as  well  as  on 
your  own  plantation,"  persisted  Walter. 

"  No,  indeed,  I  don't,"  replied  the  other.  "  I  know  no 
more  about  the  state  of  his  negroes  than  the  man  in  the  moon, 

I  never  go  near  them,  and  I  ask  no  questions.     It  is  the  only 
15* 


172  IDA     MAY. 

way  for  '<*  man  to  live  easy  under  this  troublesome  domestic 
institution  of  ours.  One  must  either  think  of  the  negroes 
only  as  brutes,  and  be  perfectly  careless  of  their  feelings.  01 
else  one  must  shut  one's  eyes  and  ears,  and  let  things  slide  as 
smoothly  as  possible.  Beside,  if  I  do  see  any  wrongs  here,  I 
don't  feel  any  responsibility  about  them,  and  that  is  a  great 
weight  off  one's  shoulders." 

"  Still,"  said  Walter,  "  I  don't  see  that  by  running  away 
from  your  plantation,  you  get  rid  of  the  responsibility  that 
attaches  to  the  possession  of  negroes.  The  only  way  to  do 
that  is  to  free  them." 

Mr.  Maynard  shook  his  head,  and  almost  groaned.  "  I 
can't  do  that,"  he  said :  "  conscientiously,  I  could  n't.  I 
wish  1  could.  If  I  thought  they  would  or  could  take  care 
of  themselves,  I  'd  free  them  to-morrow,  and  thank  the  Lord 
for  being  rid  of  them.  You  look  as  if  you  did  n't  believe  me, 
"Walter,  but  I  would.  Do  what  you  will,  as  long  as  you  keep 
men  and  women  in  slavery,  you  can't  satisfy  them  or  make 
them  happy  ;  and  I  'm  sick  and  tired  of  trying  to  do  it,  and 
meeting  only  complaints.  People  are  always  saying  negroes 
are  ungrateful,  and  I  don't  know  but  they  are,  for  they  can 
have  but  little  idea  of  the  dilemma  their  masters  arc  in.  I 
wish  that  the  ships  that  brought  the  first  ones  over  here  had 
been  sunk  in  the  sea  with  all  on  board.  They  are  the  plague 
and  the  curse  of  tie  country,  ard  nobody  knows  it  better 
than  their  owners." 

Walter  was  astonished  at  this  outburst  of  feeling,  for  ho 
fead  never  heard  his  uncle  speak  so  decidedly  upon  the  sub- 


IDA    MAY.  173 

ject  "  If  you  ihink  so,"  said  he,  "  why  don't  you  free 
them ? " 

;<  I  can't,  —  I  ought  not  to.  They  are  not  fit  to  take*  care 
of  or  govern  themselves,  and  least  of 'all  to  do  it  in  a  republic 
like  ours.  They  have  been  debased  by  generations  of  ig- 
norance and  ill-usage,  and  kept  so  long  in  a  depressed  and 
dependent  state,  that  the  best  of  them  are  mere  children,  and 
Haven't  the  least  idea  of  self-government.  I  really  think 
tiat  if  I  were  to  send  mine  to  the  free  States,  each  with  a 
hundred  dollars  in  his  pocket,  to  start  in  the  world  with, 
in  five  years  they  would  every  one  be  vagabonds  and  paupers ; 
and  I  certainly  have  no  right  to  inflict  this  burden  on  those 
States." 

"  But  why  not  educate  them,  and  teach  thein  to  conduct 
themselves  like  men  that  have  an  object  in  life,  and  let  that 
object  be  their  ultimate  freedom  ?  If  the  old  and  infirm  must 
always  be  what  they  now  are,  the  children  and  the  grand- 
children might  become,-  worthy  to  receive  their  rights  as 
men." 

"  I  would  willingly  do  it,  but  it  is  impossible.  The  laws 
of  the  "State  positively  forbid  education,  and  that  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  any  preparation  for  freedom.  My  dear  boy, 
I  've  thought  of  this  matter  in  every  possible  light,  and  I  find 
my  hands  completely  tied.  Neither  public  opinion  nor  the 
laws  would  allow  me  to  do  anything  to  arouse  in  the  minds 
of  my  own  negroes  the  idea  of  liberty ;  for  the  spark  which  I 
kindled  on  my  own  hearth  mighc  spread  till  it  made  my 
neighbors  homeless.  I  happen  to  be  so  situated  that  I  could 


* 

174  DA     MAY. 

sacrifice  great  pecuniary  interests  without  wronging  any  one, 
but  very  few  of  nay  acquaintance  are  in  like  circumstances. 
Their  negroes  are  all  their  property, — for  the  land  is  worthless 
without  negro  labor, —  and  if  the  negroes  are  freed,  their  wives 
•and  children  must  be  plunged  in  poverty.  I  cannot  blame 
them  that  they  thus  dread  to  have  the  subject  agitated,  when 
they  are  so  utterly  unprepared  to  meet  the  sure  result  of  that 
agitation,  and  I  cannot  feel  it  right  to  disturb  the  peace  of 
the  community  m  this  manner.  No,  I  am  completely  fet- 
tered. I  cannot  Jo  the  good  I  would,  either  to  myself  or  my 
negroes,  and  '  the  evil  I  would  not,'  somebody  else  does." 

"  Still,"  replied  Walter,  "  it  seems  as  if  something  might 
be  done.  With  an  evil  in  our  midst,  that  is  our  curse  at 
home  and  pur  disgrace  abroad,  it  seems  unmanly  for  those 
who  realize  it,  to  sit  supinely  mourning  over  their  lot,  and 
doing  nothing  else.  If  you  cannot  move  one  step  towards  ex- 
tricating yourself  from  this  dilemma  till  there  is  a  change  in 
public  opinion,  why  not  endeavor  now  to  correct  public 
opinion  ?  We  need  not  be  ashamed  of  evils  which  we  have 
inherited,  if  we  do  all  in  our  power  to  remedy  them  ;  but  we 
are  —  we  must  be  —  responsible,  if  we  neglect  the  duty 
of  at  least  commercing  a  reform;  don't  you  think  so, 
uncle  ?  " 

"  Walter,  my  boy,"  replied  Mr.  Maynard,  "  you  left  home 
PO  young,  and  have  resided  at  the'  north  so  much  of  the  time 
since,  that  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  that  '  the  trail  of  the 
serpent  is  over  us  all.'  The  fact  is,  there  is  little  freedom  of 
action,  and  still  less  freedom  of  discussion,  in  this  glorious  old 


I  D  t      il  A  Y  .  17  ij 

Carolina,  of  which  we  are  so  proud.  It  is  the  working  of  the 
curse,  —  the  negroes  are  not  the  only  slaves.  A  man  may 
do  what  little  he  can,  secretly,  to  instruct  his  people,  but  if  he 
do  so  much  that  the  neighboring  negroes  get  discontented  from 
the  contrast,  he  is  pretty  sure  to  have  the  laws  enforced 
against  him  by  somebody.  There  are  always  enemies  enough 
around  a  man,  who  are  glad  to  thwart  his  favorite  plans 
when  they  have  an  opportunity.  And  as  to  talking  with  my 
neighbors,  and  spreading  free  opinions,  it  won't  do,  my  boy, 
it  won't  do.  What  little  light  I  have  I  must  hide  under  a 
bushel,  in  the  midst  of  this  evil  and  adulterous  generation. 
Men  will  agree  with  you  in  general  terms  that  slavery  is  an 
evil,  and  the  negroes  are  a  plague,  and  it  is  a  pity  we  can't  get 
rid  of  them ;  but  once  seriously  propose  to  them  to  commence 
the  work  of  reforming  the  laws  that  sanction  the  abuses  of 
slavery,  or  in  any  way  to  take  the  first  step  towards  its-  aboli- 
tion, at  a  period  however  distant,  and  you  '11  see  how  sincere 
they  are.  You  will  be  lucky  if  you  escape  being  mobbed  as 
an  abolitionist,  and,  from  that  moment,  you  will  be  a  sus- 
pected person,  whom  it  will  not  do  to  be  too  intimate  with. 
I  don't  mean  that  all  are  insincere;  but  the  majority  have  too 
much  at  stake  to  really  desire  any  movement  that  will  affect 
their  pecuniary  interests.  We  don't  live  in  the  age  of  mar- 
tyrs, my  boy,  and  now-a-days  men  carry  their  hearts  in*  their 
pockets  and  their  principles  in  their  purses.  '  Great  is  Diana 
of  the  Ephesians! ' — we  '11  worship  her  fervently,  lest  the  hope 
of  our  gains  should  be  gone." 

"  How  in  the  world  then,  shall  slavery  ever  be  abolished? 


1  76  I  D  A     M  A  Y  . 

sried  Walter,  'f  nobody  has  any  power  to  agitate  the  subject 
in  any  way  ?  " 

"  It  never  will  be  abolished  !  "  replied  his  uncle,  "  never  !  " 

They  were  now  near  the  house,  and,  at  tnis  moment,  Sport, 
who  had  condescended  to  come  a  little  way  to  meet  them, 
thrust  his  cold  nose  into  Walter's  hand,  which  hung  by  his 
side. 

"  Hillo,  old  fellow  !  "  said  he,  "  were  you  lonesome  to-day 
without  me  ?  Did  they  treat  you  well  while  I  was  gone  ?  I 
really  hope  you  were  able  to  sleep  a  little,  you  've  been  so 
broken  of  your  rest  lately.  See  here,  Lizzy,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  child  who  was  now  close  behind  him,  "  here  V 
Sport,  —  a'n't  he  a  fine  old  dog  ?  " 

Lizzy  laughed,  for  seeing  him  brought  to  remembrance  his 
comical  appearance  as  he  sat  05  horseback  by  the  mountain 
brook.  "  You  have  n't  learned  to  ride  yet,  have  you,  Sport  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  Ah,  you  remember  that,  don't  you  ?  "  said  Walter,  laugh- 
ing also. 

Then,  seeing  she  carried  a  bundle  in  her  arms,  wrapped  in 
her  old  sun-bonnet,  he  asked  her  what  it  was  ;  and,  unrolling 
it,  she  showed  him  the  dead  body  of  poor  Dash. 

"  I  did  n't  like  to  leave  him  there  for  the  pigs  to  eat,"  she 


"  And  you  were  the  only  one  of  us  that  remembered  him  ! 
Y"ou  are  a  good  little  girl,"  said  Walter,  touched  by  this 
proof  of  kind  feeling  at  a  moment  when  the  child  might  have 
been  excused  for  thinking  only  of  herself. 


IDA     MAY.  177 

•'  You  know  lie  got  killed  in  trying  to  help  me,' '  she  re- 
plied simply;  "  and  I  thought,  perhaps,  if  I  brought  him  here 
you  would  let  me  bury  him." 

"So  I  will,"  replied  he.  "We  will  have  Dash  buried 
with  military  honors." 

They  went  on  to  the  house,  where  they  found  Mabel  an;l 
her  mother  waiting  for  them  on  the  piazza,  a  little  uneasy  at 
their  long  absence,  and  wondering  greatly  to  see  them  so 
attended  on  their  return. 

"  This  is  a  new  purchase  of  mine,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  in 
reply  to  the  inquiring  glances  directed  towards  him  as  he 
came  near,  —  pointing  as  he  spoke  to  Venus,  who,  with  her 
arms  folded,  stood  meekly  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  —  "  and  that 
little  thing  clinging  to  her,  is  a  chance  acquaintance  of 
Walter's,  a  pearl  that  he  found  cast  before  swine  in  the 
wilderness,  and  he  has  redeemed  it  from  the  hand  of  the 
spoiler  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Where  have  you  been  detained 
so  long  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wynn. 

"  In  plain  prose,  then,"  resumed  her  brother,  "  we  have 
been,  as  one  has  said,  '  through  scenes  and  unscenes ; '  and, 
moreover,  Walter  and  I  have  made  a  purchase  this  afternoon, 
the  reasons  whereof  we  will  give  you  some  other  time.  Now, 
having  brought  home  our  merchandise,  as  you  see.  we  would 
crave  the  gracious  lady's  permission  that  they  may  be  well 
taken  care  of  for  the  present.  But,  first  of  all,  where  is  the 
dinner  we  should  have  eaten  three  hours  ago  ?  for  our  inner 
man  groaneth,  yea  evon  fainteth,  for  lack  of  nourishment 


178  IDA     MAY. 

Verily,  at  this  moment  I  could,  like  Esau  of  old,  sell  myself 
for  a  mess  of  pottage." 

"I  wouldn't  advise  anybody  to  buy  you,"  said  "Walter, 
laughing,  "for,  according  to  the  sentiments  you  have  been 
expressing,  you  would  not  be  very  safe  property." 

"  Hush !  remember  that  is  strictly  entre  nous,"  said  his 
uncle,  in  a  low  tone,  turning  round  to  say  it,  as  they  followed 
Mrs.  Wynn  to  the  dining-room,  where  a  plentiful  repast 
awaited  them. 

Leaving  them  to  discuss  the  viands  she  had  provided,  Mrs. 
Wynn  returned  to  the  piazza,  where  she  found  Venus  still 
standing  with  the  weary  child  leaning  against  her. 

"  You  may  sit  down,"  said  Mrs.  Wynn,  kindly ;  "  you 
must  be  very  tired." 

Mabel  had  been  asking  her  questions,  and  eying  the 
shrinking  child  from  head  to  foot,  but  it  had  not  occurred  to 
the  little  lady  that  either  of  them  were  fatigued. 

"  Thank  you,  missis,"  said  Venus ;  and  at  this  permission 
she  seated  herself  and  took  Lizzy  on  her  knee. 

The  poor  woman  had  been  somewhat  awed  by  Mabel's 
haughty  glances.  She  did  not  as  yet  even  know  her  new 
master's  name,  and  she  felt  the  keenest  anxiety  to  learn  the 
character  of  the  female  influence  to  which  she  and  her  pre- 
cious little  one  should  be  subject.  At  Mabel's  manner  she 
was  somewhat  disconcerted,  but  Mrs.  Wynn's  kind  voice 
reassured  her.  A  few  moments  sufficed  to  answer  the  few 
questions  Mrs.  Wynn  cared  to  ask,  and  then,  calling  a  young 


IDA     MAY.  U 

girl  from  the  yard,  she  bade  her  tell  Maum  Abby  to  come  to 
her. 

Giving  one  curious  glance  at  the  strangers,  the  messenger 
hastened  away.  Passing  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  she 
went  to  the  end  of  the  piazza,  which,  as  we  have  said,  only 
surrounded  it  on  three  sides,  the  fourth  side  being  shaded  by 
six  or  eight  very  large  and  widely-spreading  trees,  that  made 
quite  a  little  grove,  into  which  the  sun's  rays  could  hardly 
penetrate,  and  which  completely  hid  the  yard  and  kitchen 
offices  from  the  view  of  persons  passing  along  the  avenue  that 
led  to  the  house.  Under  these  trees  stood  a  small  frame 
building,  neatly  painted  outside,  and  containing  two  rooms. 
It  was  close  to  the  piazza,  though  concealed  by  the  angle  of 
the  building,  for  here  lived  Maum  Abby,  a  valued  servant, 
v/ho  had  once  reigned  supreme  over  the  corner  bed-room, 
when  it  was  Miss  Mabel's  nursery,  and  who  was  now  ex- 
pected to  be  always  within  the  sound  of  Mrs.  Wynn's  voice, 
if  she  should  need  her  there  at  any  time.  This  corner  room, 
no  longer  needed  as  a  nursery,  Mrs.  Wynn  herself  occupied, 
and,  though  there  was  a  younger  and  more  sprightly  damsel 
who  claimed  the  honor  of  being  her  maid,  the  gentle  lady 
liked  better  to  be  waited  upon  by  Maum  Abby,  whose  refined 
manners,  correct  language,  and  quiet  demeanor,  might  have 
graced  a  higher  station  in  life.  She  was  a  quadroon,  of  a 
tall,  slender  form,  with  mild  black  eyes,  and  regular  features, 
which  always  wore  a  pleasant  and  winning  expression.  She 
was  a  great  favorite  with  the  whole  family,  and  Mrs.  Wynn 
loved  her  more  as  a  companion  than  a  servant ;  for  she  had 
16 


L80  IDA     MAT. 

been  her  playmate  in  childhood,  although  ten  years  older  than 
herself,  and  had  also  shared  hei  studies  in  some  measure. 
Thu«  Abby  had  leaned  to  read  ana  write,  and  by  improving 
every  opportunity  for  reading  and  study  she  possessed  far 
more  general  information  than  was  suspected  even  by  those  who 
knew  her  most  intimately.  When  her  young  mistress  was 
married,  she  removed  with  her  to  Wynn  Hall,  accompanied 
by  her  husband  and  four  children,  as  bright,  as  happy,  and 
almost  as  much  delighted  with  her  new  home  as  was  the 
young  bride  herself.  But  after  this  change  the  sunshine  of 
her  life  departed.  Mr.  Wynn  was  fond  of  his  wife,  but 
he  had  not  the  genial  disposition  of  the  Maynard  family,  and 
Abby  was '  made,  in  various  ways,  slight  indeed,  but  notice- 
able to  one  so  petted  as  she  had  been,  to  feel  that  the  favors 
of  her  lot  were  favors  granted,  not  rights  received  ;  and  that, 
despite  all  her  advantages,  she  belonged  to  the  inferior  race. 
Then,  after  some  years,  in  one  sickly  season  she  lost  her 
three  eldest  children,  and  before  the  next  spring  her  husband 
died.  This  accumulation  of  troubles,  which  she  felt  most 
keenly,  combined  with  long  and  wearisome  watching  over  the 
sick,  broke  her  constitution  and  saddened  her  whole  nature, 
and  she  would  have  pined  herself  into  the  grave,  had  not 
Mrs.  Wynn  watched  over  her  with  a  sister's  sympathy,  and 
with  Christian  love  poured  into  her  heart  the  blessed  conso- 
lations of  religion.  It  was  long  before  her  deep  and  bitter 
sorrow  could  be  alleviated ;  but,  as  time  went  on,  her  heart 
recovered  power  to  receive  the  precious  promis  ?s  which  the 
Scriptures  offer  to  the  afflicted,  and  then  her  mist -ess  felt  t!i« 


IDA    MAY.  181 

satisfaction  of  seeing  that  her  cares  had  not  been  in  vain,  and 
that  the  words  which  had  apparently  fallen  on  deaf  ears,  had 
been  silently,  and  almost  unconsciously  ,*cting  as  a  healing 
balm  for  the  sufferer.  She  resumed  by  degrees  her  maternal 
duties  to  her  only  remaining  child,  and  the  various  light  em- 
ployments to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  ;  and  at  length 
no  trace  remained  of  the  storm  through  which  she  had  passed, 
except  the  subdued  and  chastened  expression  which,  she  wore, 
instead  of  her  former  gay  and  buoyant  manner.  She  was 
deeply  grateful  to  Mrs.  Wynn  and  warmly  attached  to  her, 
and  she  had  no  wishes  ungratified  except  those  connected  with 
her  boy. 

Alfred  had  inherited  his  mother's  thirst  for  knowledge, 
and  early  gave  promise  of  uncommon  intellect,  and  she  longed 
for  and  appreciated  the  advantages  of  education  for  him. 
She  could  not  bear  to  think  that  her  handsome  and  precocious 
boy  should  grow  up  ignorant  and  degraded  like  the  most  of  his 
race  are,  or  be  content  tc  dwarf  the  mind,  and  debase  the  soul., 
and  regard  the  condition  of  the  fawning  and  petted  servant 
as  the  highest  and  most  favored  to  which  he  might  aspire. 

O,  how  she  longed  —  that  poor  slave  mother  —  for  the 
advantages  of  schools,  and  books,  and  teachers,  which  are 
within  the  reach  of  the  most  destitute  of  white  children  in 
the  free  States  !  Her  heart  seemed  to  die  within  her  when 
she  looked  forward  to  his  future,  and  saw  him  growing  up  to 
manhood  amid  the  trammelling  and  deforming  influences  that 
now  surrounded  him.  With  great  care  and  secrecy,  lest  Mr. 
Wynn,  who  angrily  opposed  such  things,  should  know  it,  she 


182  IDA     MAY. 

taught  him  to  real  and  write,  and  by  slow  degrees  she  re- 
signed herself  to  the  idea  that  when  he  became  a  man  she 
would  in  some  way^nanage  to  effect  his  escape  from  bondage 
though  that  act  would  most  probably  separate  them  for  .tho 
remainder  of  her  life.  The  chains  of  servitude  to  her  had 
been  golden  Jinks,  worn  lightly  and  easily,  *?ut  they  became 
iron  fetters  when  she  saw  them  laid  upon  her  son,  and  she 
could  endure  to  be  left  alone,  provided  she  could  know  he  was 
free. 

She  was  sitting  by  the  window  of  her  room  when  the  mes- 
senger from  Mrs.  Wynn  came  to  seek  her.  Everything  about 
her  was  neatly  and  tastefully  arranged,  and  on  her  lap  lay 
some  fine  embroidery,  upon  which  she  had  been  at  work ;  but 
it  was  now  too  dark  to  sew,  and  she  was  leaning  her  head  on 
her  hand  absorbed  in  deep  thought. 

"  On'y  think,  Maum  Abby,"  said  the  girl,  "that  ar'  young 
Mass'  Walter  be  the  spiletestest  feller !  what  you  reckon  he 
done  fetch  home  dis  time  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  idea  :  what  is  it  ? "  said  Abby,  looking  up. 

"  Why,  nothin'  else  but  two  niggers,  —  a  black  one  and  a. 
white  one.-  A'n't  that  powerful  queer  ?  Miss  wants  you 
to  come  and  take  care  of  'em ;  so  do  come  'long,  for  I  'm  dyin' 
to  know  how  he  come  to  catch  sich  like  in  de  woods  '  " 

Abby  rose,  and,  laying  her  work  aside  in  a  pretty  work- 
box,  followed  the  girl  to  the  piazza,  where  Mrs.  "Wynn  still 
remained. 

"  Here,  Mauma  Abby,"  she  said,  "  is  Venus,  a  new  ser- 
vant that  Mr.  Maynard  has  brought  home.  T  wish  you  would 


TDA     MAY.  183 

take  her  and  the  little  girl,  and  get  some  clean  clothing  foi 
them  both,  and  let  them  have  Alfred's  room  for  a  few  days. 
He  can  sleep  somewhere  else." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Emma,  I  '11  attend  to  them,"  said  Abby  ;  and 
Venus  arose  and  followed  her.  She  was  quite  surprised,  when 
ushered  into  Abby's  apartment,  to  see  the  neat  carpet  on  the 
floor,  the  tastefully-arranged  curtains  at  the  windows,  and  the 
painted  furniture.  She  had  never  before  seen  a  servant's 
room  so  richly  arrayed,  and,  simple  and  unexpensive  ?fs  was 
everything  there,  she  was  almost  afraid  to  sit  down  amid  what 
seemed  to  her  so  elegant,  or  to  feel  herself  on  an  Equality 
with  the  delicate-looking  woman  who  conducted  her.  After 
leaving  her  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  Abby  returned,  and  led 
her  into  the  adjoining  room,  which  her  son  usually  occupied. 
:<  This  will  be  your  apartment  for  the  present,"  she  said. 

"  We  must  have  some  water,  and  get  washed  up,  —  Lizzy 
and  me,  —  before  we  can  get  into  dem  nice  clean  sheets,"  re- 
plied Venus.  "  0,  it  do  seem  mighty  good  to  have  a  roof 
ovei  a  .body  again,  when  night  comes,  and  a  bed  to  sleep  onto ! 
We  'se  most  fagged  out,  Lizzy  and  me  is,  sleepin'  on  the 
ground  dis  three  weeks.  We  a'n't  been  used  to  it." 

"  You  had  a  comfortable  home,  then,"  said  Abby. 

"  Yes,  mighty  comforble,"  replied  Venus.  "  Not  so  fine  as 
dis  yer,  but  comforble  for  niggers.  I  done  guv  up  entirely, 
when  we  was  sold,  and  thought  de  Lord  done  forget  all  'bout 

'IS." 

"  The  Lord  never  forgets,"  said  Abby,  speaking  in  a  lovr 
r-one,  as  if  rather  to  herself  than  her  companion.        His  ways 
16* 


184  II  A     MAT. 

are  dark  and  mysterious,  and  he  covers  the  path  with  clouds 
along  which  he  leads  u? ;  but  he  never  forgets  us,  nev er,  and 
at  last  he  will  bring  us  where  all  is  brightness.  Let  us  trust 
Him  through  all,  for  the  end  will  come  at  last." 

"  I  reckons  you  'se  got  larniu',  somehow,  you  talk  so  nice,* 
said  Venus,  gazing  at  her  with  unfeigned  admiration. 

'•'  Miss  Emma  has  always  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  have 
had  many  advantages,"  said  Abby,  with  a  slight  blush.  "  But 
I  musi  not  stay  here  talking,  while  you  are  tired  and  hungry. 
I  see  the  poor  little  girl  looks  like  she  would  cry  from  weari- 
ness. You  will  find  plenty  of  water  here,  and  some  clean 
clothes,  and  you  had  better  bathe  her  and  put  her  in  bed, 
while  I  get  you  something  to  eat,  and  she  can  take  her  supper 
lying  down." 

"  I  'clare,  you  'se  too  good.  We  did  n't  think  o'  being  sich 
a  heapo'  strouble,"  replied  Venus.  Abby  smiled,  and  left  the 
room,  "  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent." 

The  next  morning,  notwithstanding  her  fatigue,  Venus  rose 
early,  that  she  might  be  ready  if  called  upon  by  her  new 
master.  But  she  saw  nothing  of  either  Mr.  Maynard  or 
Walter,  for  they  were  occupied  with  company  which  had 
arrived  the  previous  evening,  and,  as  Mr.  Wynn  had  invited 
several  gentlemen  to  dine  :vith  him  that  day,  the  whole 
household  was  busy,  and  Abby  was  left  alone  with  the  new 
comers,  nearly  the  whole  morning.  Waltei  had  privately 
requested  that  the  little  girl  might  not  be  dressed  in  the 
warse  clothing  usually  provided  for  the  servants,  and  so  Mrs. 
Wynn  had  given  Abby  a  cast-off  merino  drerss  of  Mabel's, 


IDA     MAY.  185 

which  she  was  busy  over  all  the  morning,  making  it,  with 
Venus'  help,  into  quite  a  handsome  and  well-fitting  garment 
Meantime,  Lizzy,  who  was  now  literally  of  the  sans  culottes 
class  in  society,  was  "  making  a  business  "  of  resting  herself, 
and  was  quite  refreshed  by  the  time  she  was  permitted  to 
arise.  Great  was  Venus'  delight  at  the  child's  appearance, 
when,  having  washed  her,  and  carefully  arranged  her  glossy 
curls  in  the  most  becoming  manner,  she  arrayed  her  in  the 
bright  blue  dress,  whose  soft  folds  seemed  so  much  better 
suited  to  that  delicate  form  than  anything  she  had  previously 
worn. 

"  I  'clare,  honey,"  she  exclaimed,  "  'pears  like  you  was  n't 
a  nigger,  now  !  These  is  powerful  good  folks  we  'se  got 
amongst  dis  yer  time.  Dere  's  Miss  Emma  corned  in  to  call 
Maum  Abby  just  now,  and  she  axed  for  you,  honey,  and  spoke 
so  pleasant.  I  'clare,  I  loved  her  de  fuss  minute  I  sot  eyes 
onto  her ! " 

Venus  had  been  improving  the  opportunity,  while  they 
were  working  together,  to  acquire  some  knowledge  of  her 
new  surroundings.  Abby  was  never  weary  of  talking  about 
the  Maynard  family,  and  she  had  given  her  companion  a 
history  of  each  member.  Perhaps  the  reader  would  enjoy 
being  equally  enlightened. 

Charles,  Mabel,  and  Emma  Maynard,  were  early  in  life 
left  orphans.  But  the  sorrow  of  this  bereavement  was  greatly 
lessened  to  the  two  young  girls  by  the  watchful  love  and  care 
of  their  brother,  who  was  twelve  years  older  than  themselves, 
and  who,  re*  3iving  them  as  a  sacred  charge  from  their  dying 


186  IDA     MAT. 

. 

mother  3evoted  his  whole  time  to  them  afterwards,  for  many 
years.  They  were  all  of  peculiarly  refined  natures,  and 
affectionate  dispositions  ;  and  thus,  happy  in  each  other,  they 
passed  many  pleasant  years,  growing  up  to  womanhood  in  the 
seclusion  of  their  fine  old  family-seat  at  Oakland.  After  a 
time,  Mabel,  the  eldest,  married  ;  but  her  husband  proved  to 
be  dissipated,  and  a  spendthrift.  Two  infant  children  she 
laid  in  the  grave,  and  then  one  of  those  terrible  steamboat 
explosions,  so  common  on  the  south-western  rivers,  suddenly 
deprived  her  of  her  husband,-  and  four  years  from  the  time 
she  left  her  home  as  a  bride,  she  returned  there,  ruined  in 
fortune,  and  broken-hearted,  to  give  birth  to  a  son,  and  then 
to  die.  This  child,  which  she  lived  long  enough  to  see  chris- 
tened with  his  father's  name,  Walter,  she  commended  to  her 
brother's  care,  beseeching  him  to  adopt  him  as  his  own ;  and 
well  and  faithfully  had  that  request  been  fulfilled.  A  year 
or  two  after  Mabel's  death,  his  other  sister,  Emma,  had  given 
her  hand  to  Mr.  Wynn.  Many  wondered  that  a  woman  so 
gentle  and  timid  should  have  fancied  one  so  cold  in  manner, 
and  of  a  disposition  so  unbending,  as  characterized  Richard 
"Wynn.  But  people  are  often  attracted  by  their  opposites, 
and  there  is  something  akin  to  magnetism  in  the  influence  by 
which  a  man  of  strong  will  compels  the  assent  of  a  woman  of 
feebler  organization,  and  less  marked  individuality.  Emma 
Maynard  was  a  pretty  little  creature,  with  one  ot  tnose  char- 
acters that  expand  into  beauty,  and  acquire  use  and  strength, 
only  when  constantly  surrounded  with  an  atmosphere  of  love. 
She  was  dependent  and  affectionate,  inclined  to  take  a  low 


IDA     MAT.  187 

« 

estimate  of  her  own  acquirements  or  abilities,  frightened  at  a 
frown,  and  silenced  by  a  look.  Her  husoand  was  undemon- 
strative, and  not  very  warm-hearted.  He  liked  his  wife 
better  than  anybody  else  except  himself,  but  he  had  an 
almost  morbid  horror  of  sentiment,  and  did  not  think  it  at  all 
worth  while  to  indulge  her  in  any  such  weakness.  He  was, 
moreover,  extremely  opinionated  and  self-reliant,  and  had  an 
imperious  manner,  so  that,  almost  unconsciously,  his  wife  lost 
her  sprightliness  and  gayety,  and  subsided  into  a  very  quiet, 
unobtrusive  woman,  beloved  by  her  servants,  for  whom  she 
contrived  many  indulgences,  but  possessing  little  influence 
over  either  her  husband  or  her  daughter,  and  depending  for 
her  happiness  almost  wholly  upon  the  society  of  her  brother, 
who,  since  her  marriage,  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  each 
year  at  her  house. 

Walter,  growing  up  under  these  influences,  and  inheriting 
all  the  genial  and  impulsive  qualities  of  his  mother's  family, 
had  always  loved  his  aunt,  who  knew  little  difference  between 
her  feelings  for  him  and  those  with  which  she  regarded  hei 
own  daughter,  and  felt  for  his  uncle  Charles  Maynard  the 
same  affection  and  respect  he  would  have  cherished  for  a 
father.  But  for  Mr.  Wynn,  who,  though  he  treated  him 
kindly  enough  when  he  happened  to  think  of  it,  took  little 
notice  of  him  usually,  he  experienced  an  indifference  that  wa« 
tinged  with  dislike ;  and  he  had,  by  turns,  quarrelled  with 
and  petted  the  little  Mabel,  who,  with  advancing  years,  was 
developing  a  disposition  compounded  of  both  parents,  bu* 
containing  the  best  qualities  of  neither 


188  IDA     VAT. 

Venus,  who  was  a  great  talkar,  was  detailing  to  the  child 
a  lengthened  account  of  the  various  events  and  characters  of 
which  the  morning's  conversation  had  given  her  information, 
when  Patra,  the  girl  who  had  been  sent  to  call  Abby  the 
night  before,  thrust  her  head  into  the  window  of  the  room 
where  they  were  sitting. 

"  How  d'  ye,  's  mornin',"  said  she,  good-naturedly. 

"  Thank  'ee,  we  'se  rested  some,  Lizzy  and  me  is,  and  got 
glared  up  mighty  comforble,"  replied  Venus. 

"  I  reckoned  you  must  be  'siderble  'freshed  by  dis  time," 
said  Patra.  "  I  'd  been  in  to  see  you  'fore,  but  we  'se  gwine 
have  a  dinner-party  to-day,  and  we  'se  all  been  dat  busy. 
Got  do  table  done  sot  now,  though,  and  it  do  look  mighty 
fine.  Would  n't  you  like  come  look  at  it,  'fore  de  dinner  's 
toted  in?" 

This  was  what  Venus  had  been  longing  to  do,  for  she  began 
to  be  tired  of  staying  all  day  in  one  room,  and  it  was  now 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  So  she  eagerly  accepted  the 
invitation. 

"  Come,  den,  and  I  reckon  you  never  see  sicn  like  in  all 
your  born  days.  Sich  powerful  heap  ob  plate  !  My  stair  ! 
De  silver  and  de  glass  do  shine  so  !  We  'se  got  mere  dem 
things  in  dis  family  'en  anybody  all  roun'  here,  and  Maum 
A.bby,  she  does  derange  'em  most  beautiful.  Miss  Emma 
always  leave  all  dat  to  Ma'am  Abby,  she  got  sich  \  owcrful 
taste  at  deranging  de  tables  when  we  has  companj  You 
way  bring  the  little  girl,  to:." 

Venus  held  out  her  hand  for  the  child,  but  she  drew  back 


IDA    MAT.  189 

Sho  preferred  remaining  alone,  rather  than  encountering  so 
many  strangers ;  and,  having  given  a  hasty  glance  in  the 
glass,  to  see  that  her  new  turban  was  tastefully  foldefl,  and, 
from  the  force  of  habit,  given  her  dress  the  smoothing  touch 
she  usually  bestowed  on  her  aprons,  —  the  beloved  aprona 
which  had,  alas  !  fallen  victims  to  the  cupidity  of  the  slave- 
trader,  —  Venus  departed  with  Patra,  who  felt  a  personal 
pride  in  displaying  to  her  astonished  and  delighted  companion 
the  riches  of  plate  and  glass  with  which  the  tables  were  orna- 
mented. Afterwards,  in  speaking  of  it  to  Lizzy,  Venus 
acknowledged,  "  You  know,  honey,  I  never  did  see  nothin' 
half  so  splendiferous  in  all  my  life,  but  I  war  n't  gwine  to  tell 
her  so,  —  the  nigger  !  —  'cause  for  fear  she  'd  think  I  'se  some 
poor  cretur'  t'  had  n't  been  used  to  de  fust  fam'lies."  There- 
fore, under  the  influence  of  this  not  unnatural  desire  to  make 
an  impression,  and  keep  up  appearances,  she  restrained  her 
surprise  as  best  she  might,  and  affected  a  nonchalance  equal 
to  that  of  the  most  fashionable  leader  of  the  "  ton." 

Patra  was  a  little  disappointed  when  she  saw  the  indiffer- 
ence with  which  Venus  seemed  to  regard  the  glittering  dis- 
play before  her ;  but  one's  mamier  has  a  great  effect  in  im- 
posing upon  the  darker  as  well  as  the  more  enlightened  circles 
of  society,  and  it  was  with  her  respect  heightened,  by  several 
degrees,  that  she  conducted  her  companion  to  the  kitchen, 
and  introduced  her  to  the  servants  there.  Venus  was  willing 
to  make  herself  useful,  and  anxious  to  acquire  a  reputation 
in  the  family  ;  and,  as  there  was  plenty  to  do,  she  was  soon 
deeply  engaged,  under  the  superintendence  of  the  cook,  who 


190  IDA     MAY. 

was  really  quite  a  calinary  artist,  in  the  mysteries  of  taking 
up  and  preparing  the  dishes  for  the  table. 

More  than  an  hour  had  passed  away,  and  the  child  was 
still  alone,  amusug  herself  with  watching  from  the  window 
the  various  groups  in  the  yard,  when  suddenly  she  saw  Venue 
approaching  with  a  pace  so  rapid,  and  a  manner  so  agitated, 
that  she  hastened  to  the  door  to  meet  her.  Tears  were  run 
ning  down  her  cheeks,  but  the  expression  of  her  face  was 
anything  but  sad  ;  and  her  appearance  was  irresistibly  comi- 
cal, as  she  trotted  along,  with  her  head  thrown  back,  her 
mouth  distended,  her  small  eyes  twinkling,  and  her  whole 
figure,  even  to  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  shaking  with  a  univer- 
sal giggle. 

Seizing  Lizzy's  hands,  she  exclaimed,  "  0,  honey,  I  'se 
found  him !  You  must  come  now,  for  I  'se  found  my  son 
John,  dat  I  lef  a  little  feller,  when  I  was  sold  way  to  'Ginia. 
Come  and  see  him,  honey.  On'y  think  how  he  'membered  his 
ma'  Benus  all  dese  twelve  year  I  a'n't  seen  him ;  and  I  'clare 
•fore  goodness,  honey,  he  's  growed  so  handsome,  I  'se  clar 
shamed  of  him." 

As  she  poured  forth  her  overflowing  joy  in  these  words, 
she  drew  the  bewildered  child  along  to  a  room  adjoining  the 
kitchen,  where  the  servants  of  the  guests  were  assembled, 
and  here  she  found  the  boy  whose  unexpected  recovery  had 
nearly  made  his  mother  crazy  with  delight.  He  was  the  son 
who  had  cheered  her  last  unhappy  marriage,  and,  left  alone 
as  he  was  when  his  mother  was  sold,  he  had  had  abundant 
cause  to  remember  her  fondly,  as  the  only  being  from  whom 


IDA     MAY.  191 

he  could  claim  the  unselfish  kindness  and  care  which  every 
human  being  longs  to  receive  from  some  one.  He  was  now  a 
tall  stripling  of  seventeen,  black  as  a  mulatto  could  be,  but 
with  good  features  and  a  pleasant  expression,  which  might 
justify  his  fond  mother's  opinion  of  his  beauty.  Learning 
from  the  servants  the  incident  of  the  day  previous,  which  was 
by  this  time  generally  known,  and  finding  that  the  woman 
was  named  Venus,  he  made  inquiries  which  led  to  a  mutual 
recognition. 

The  child  fully  sympathized  with  her  friend's  delight,  but 
she  hardly  knew  what  to  say  to  the  boy,  who  was  himself 
somewhat  embarrassed  at  attracting  so  much  observation , 
for  the  news  had  spread  rapidly  through  the  yard,  and  the 
door  and  windows  were  now  crowded  with  heads  of  various 
sizes,  shapes  and  colors,  all  with  eyes  wide  open  and  eager  to 
see  the  meeting  between  Col.  Ross'  John  and  his  mother.  For 
a  little  while  Lizzy  endured  this  battery  of  eyes,  and  gestures, 
and  exclamations,  in  common  with  Venus  and  her  son  ;  but 
at  length  the  crowd  dropped  off  in  various  directions,  and  the 
child,  glad  to  escape  observation,  slipped  away  quietly,  and 
was  returning  to  her  room,  when  her  attention  was  attracted 
by  some  ppts  of  rare  and  beautiful  flowers,  which  had  been 
removed  from  the  conservatory  and  placed  for  ornaments  on 
the  piazza,  opposite  the  dining-room  windows.  The  most 
common  flowers  had  a  magical  influence  over  Lizzy's  mind, 
and  she  was  lost  in  admiration  of  these,  which  surpassed 
everything  she  had  ever  seen.  Forgetting  everything  else, 
ehe  walked  before  them,  touching  them  gently  with  longing 
17 


192  IDA     MAY. 

fingers,  and  bending  over  them  to  breathe  the  delicious  fra- 
grance which  they  exhaled. 

While  she  was  thus  occupied,  some  of  the  gentlemen  wno 
had  finished  their  dinner,  and  were  sitting  talking  over  their 
wine,  began  to  turn  their  chairs  a  little  from  the  table,  pre- 
paratory to  joining  the  ladies  in  the  parlor.  In  doing  this 
one  of  them  noticed  the  child,  and  remarked  to  Walter  Varian 
who  sat  near  him,  that  he  was  not  aware  Mr.  Wynn  had  a 
daughter  so  young. 

"  That  child  is  not  Uncle  Richard's  daughter,"  said  Wal- 
ter, laughing.  "  /  have  had  the  pleasure  of  owning  that 
dainty  bit  of  flesh  and  blood  since  yesterday  evening.  Yes, 
sir,"  he  added,  as  he  met  his  companion's  astonished  gaze,  "  I 
bought  her  and  paid  for  her,  to  a  man  who  claimed  to  own 
her,  and  so  I  suppose,  by  all  the  laws  of  the  country,  I  may 
say  she  's  mine" 

"  Still,  I  am  astonished,"  replied  the  gentleman,  "  for  she 
is  so  delicate  in  appearance,  it  hardly  seems  that  she  can  be 
a  servant,  or  come  of  that  lineage.  She  is  beautiful  enough 
to  make  some  father's  heart  glad.  How  can  she  be  a  ser- 
vant ? " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  she  is  of  white  parentage,"  replied  Wal- 
ter. "  You  notice  that  though  she  is  not  very  fair,  her  skin 
has  the  clear  darkness  of  a  brunette,  and  not  the  yellowish 
tinge  which  marks  the  lighter  shades  of  the  negro  race.  Her 
features,  her  whole  form  and  mien,  show  that  she  is  wholly  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  lineage ;  and  if  you  should  hear  her  speak, 
you  would  see,  by  her  correct  pronunciation,  that  she  has  at 


IJUA    MAY.  193 

some  time  in  her  life  been  taught  by  refined  and  educated 
persons.  See,  there  she  goes,  gliding  out  of  sight.  She 
has  heard  our  voices  and  I  have  noticed  that  she  is  very 
shy." 

"  How  comes  she  here  —  where  did  you  get  her  ?  "  asked 
his  friend. 

"  I  found  her  yesterday  in  the  woods,  and  bought  her  from 
a  gang  who  were  being  driven  southward ;  but  I  saw  her  first 
a  few  weeks  since,  while  travelling  through  North  Carolina, 
just  on  the  northern  border  of  that  State.  It  was  in  quite  a 
romantic  spot,  and  she  had  dressed  herself  with  leaves  and 
flowers,  and  looked  like  a  little  fairy.  I  talked  a  little  with 
her,  and  became  quite  interested  in  her,  and  so  when  I  found 
her  again  yesterday,  in  such  a  forlorn  situation,  I  could  n't 
refrain  from  purchasing  her." 

"  She  will  be  well  treated  here,"  remarked  the  other,  as 
Walter  paused. 

"  I  shall  advertise,  and  see  if  I  cannot  find  her  parents," 
replied  he,  quickly.  "  Of  course,  such  a  child  as  that  must 
have  friends  who  will  be  glad  to  claim  her.  She  was  doubt- 
less stolen  from  them." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  another  gentleman  ;  "  but  she  may 
be  one  of  the  poor  whites,  and  in  that  case,  she  would  be 
much  better  off  to  be  a  servant  here  than  to  live  at  home. 
It  may  be,  too,  that  she  was  sold  instead  of  being  sto.  en.  I 
have  frequently  seen  white  children  who  were  thus  thfcown 
into  the  market.  These  miserable  '  clay-eaters '  often  sell 
their  children,  and  I  suppose  the  Virginia  '  crackers '  do  the 


194  IDA     MAY. 

same  ;  and  in  my  opinion,  it  is  the  best  thing  they  can  Jo  for 
their  childien  " 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  said  "Walter.  "  Can  servitude 
—  slavery  —  be  in  any  case  the  proper  condition  for  a  parent 
to  force  a  child  into  ?  I  know  they  are  miserably  poor,  but, 
still,  is  not  liberty  the  greatest  of  all  blessings,  man's  immor- 
tal birthright,  which  none  should  willingly  give  up  ?  " 

"  In  some  cases  it  may  be  and  undoubtedly  is,  a  birthright 
which  should  be  kept  sacred  as  life  !  "  replied  his  companion  ; 
"  but  there  are  many  cases  where  servitude  is  much  more  for 
the  real  good  of  a  person,  or  a  class.  These  poor  whites 
among  us  are  an  instance  of  how  utterly  impossible  it  is  that 
all  men  were  born  to  be  equal.  They  are  lower  even  than 
.our  negroes,  and  if  they  were  all  to  come  under  negro  laws 
to-morrow,  it  would  be  far  better  for  the  next  generation 
than  it  will  be  for  them  to  remain  as  they  are.  It  has  always 
been  so,  and  always  will  be.  There  must  be  two  classes 
in  every  society.  The  learned,  the  cultivated,  the  wealthy, 
must  be  the  'patricians  ;  and  the  laboring  class  must  be  the 
plebeians,  and  it  makes  little  difference  whether  they  are  black 
or  white." 

"  Simply  because  a  man  is  poor,  you  will  reduce  him  to  the 
condition  of  a  serf!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Maynard,  joining  the 
group,  who  were  now  sitting  near  a  window ;  "  we  must  take 
care,  then,  how  we  become  bankrupts." 

"  Not  simply  because  he  is  poor,  but  if  he  be  ignorant  anil 
degraded,  the  best  thing  one  can  do  for  him  is  to  place  him 
under  guarliansh!p.  The  lower  classes  are  not  fit  to  govcrc 


.  . 

IDA     MAY.  19y 

• 

themselves  and  it  is  a  false  philanthropy  that  insists  upon 
their  having  the  right  to  do  so.  Society  would  be  much 
better,  and  government  established  on  a  firmer  basis,  if  they 
did  not  have  it." 

"  Would  it  not  be  a  better  plan,"  said  Walter,  "  to  estab- 
lish schools,  where  they  could  be  educated,  so  that  they  might 
rise  in  the  social  scale,  instead  of  enacting  laws  that  would 
keep  them  forever  degraded.  Some  of  our  most  renowned 
countrymen  had  parents  and  grandparents  that  were  poor, 
and  ignorant,  also,  as  compared  with  what  you  call  the  patri- 
cian class." 

"  They  were  exceptions,"  replied  the  gentleman.  "  There 
are  exceptions  to  every  rule,  you  know." 

"  True,"  replied  Walter ;  "  but  nobody  can  tell  if  these 
would  have  been  exceptions,  if  their  parents  had  lived  under 
the  '  negro  laws '  which  you  propose  to  make  for  the  poor  and 
ignorant  of  our  day." 

"  I  cannot  think  it  right,"  resumed  the  first  speaker,  "  to 
impose  negro  laws  upon  the  whites.  The  negro  is  an  inferior 
race,  and  was  evidently  intended  for  the  position  of  servitude 
which  he  has  always  occupied ;  and  though  the  '  clay -eat- 
ers '  may  envy  the  happier  position  of  our  negroes,  it  will 
never  do  to  place  them  in  a  similar  state,  because  it  will 
break  down  the  distinction  of  races,  which  ought  always  to  be 
strictly  observed." 

"How  unfortunate  they  are  !"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  ironi- 
cally ;  but  his  friend  went  on  with  perfect  gravity. 

"  STes,  their  situation  is  indeec1  deplorable ;  but  it  is  a  pity 
17* 


196  IDA     MAT. 

| 

that  they  will  sometimes  sell  their  children  to  the  traders 
not  so  much,  perhaps,  on  their  own  account,  for  no  doubt  the 
children  are  benefited,  as  that  this  fact,  being  known,  serves 
as  a  shield  for  those  vile  men  who  kidnap  children  born  to 
a  better  condition  of  life,  as  I  have  no  doubt  has  been  the 
case  in  regard  to  the  little  girl  we  saw  on  the  piazza." 

'•»'  I  agree  with  you  perfectly  in  that  last  observation,"  said 
another  gentleman,  who  had  not  till  now  joined  in  the  con- 
versation. "  I  shall  never  forget  one  poor  man,  whom  I  met 
in  New  Orleans  three  years  since,  searching  for  his  child  that 
had  been  stolen  from  him.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  bowed  and 
broken  with  anxiety  and  sorrow.  He  said  she  was  his  only 
child,  and  his  wife  had  died  a  few  months  before  the  daughter 
was  lost.  He  had  traced  the  kidnappers  into  Maryland,  and 
there  lost  their  track,  and,  since  then,  had  been  all  over  the 
south  and  west  seeking  her  in  vain.  Poor  fellow !  his  face 
haunted  me  for  weeks  afterwards.  I  never  saw  such  a  pic- 
ture of  despair.  It  was  dreadful  to  think  what  he  must  have 
suffered." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  the  child's  name  ?  "  asked  Walter,  anx- 
iously, for  he  felt  a  deep  interest  in  the  story. 

"Yes,  I  asked  him.  particularly,  that  I  might  know  in  case 
I  ever  heard  anything  about  such  a  child.  The  name  waa 
Ida  —  Ida  May  —  rather  a  peculiar  name,  too " 

He  paused  suddenly,  for  with  a  faint  cry  the  child  sprang 
through  the  open  window  and  stood  before  them.  When, 
finding  herself  the  object  of  remark,  she  had  glided  out  of 
view,  she  had  uot  left  the  piazza,  as  they  supposed,  lictween 


IDA     MAY.  197 

the  windows  of  the  dining-room  there  was  a  low  seat,  and  here 
she  had  placed  herself,  that  she  might  still  gaze  on  the  beauti- 
ful flowers,  and  also  hear  the  voice  of  her  kind  friend  Walter, 
for  whom  her  young  heart  beat  with  an  enthusiastic  admira  • 
tion  and  love.  There  she  had  lingered,  listening  to  the  con- 
versation, until,  as  the  last  speaker  began  his  simple  story, 
her  attention  became  aroused  and  fixed.  The  stirring  events 
of  the  last  few  weeks,  which  had  so  painfully  broken  the 
monotony  of  her  existence,  had  excited  in  her  mind  a  dim  and 
confused  memory  of  scenes  and  events  in  the  past  which  had 
likewise  brought  fear  and  suffering,  and  something  in  that  re- 
cital seemed  to  clear  away  the  thick  haze  that  clouded  her 
mental  vision,  and  when  at  length  the  name  —  her  name  — 
was  mentioned,  the  "electric  chain"  was  touched,  and  vividly, 
as  with  a  lightning  glare,  all  the  long  hidden  years  were 
visible  before  her. 

Standing  in  the  midst  of  the  startled  circle,  with  her  head 
bent  forward,  and  her  small  hands  clasped  imploringly,  she 
threw  around  one  quick  glance  of  agonized  inquiry,  and  ex- 
claimed wildly,  "  That 's  it,  that 's  my  name,  —  Ida  May ! 
I  remember  it  all  now,  and  poor  papa,  and  my  dead  mother's 
grave,  and  Bessy,  and  the  flowers,  and  those  dreadful  men, 
and  0,  that  dreadful  woman  that  whipped  me  so !  O, 
I  remember  it  all  now !  Where  have  I  been  so  long,  and 
where  is  papa,  and  dear,  dear  riamma,  —  where  is  she  ?  "  and 
with  these  words  she  fell  down  insensible  on  the  floor  at  their 
Peek 

Almost  petrifie:'  with  surprise,  they  had  listened  to  her, 


198  IDA     MAT. 

ctnd  now  Walter,  springing  forward,  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  into  the  open  air,  while  Mr.  Wynn,  whose  soto 
voce  conversation,  with  a  few  politicians  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table,  had  been  thus  interrupted,  hurried  forward  with  hi? 
guests  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  child  could  be  revived  from 
that  long  and  death-like  swo  )n,  and  then  it  was  succeeded  by 
a  burst  of  weeping  so  violent  and  hysterical,  that  Mrs.  Wynn 
was  obliged  to  withdraw  her  entirely  from  the  excited  group 
which  had  gathered  round  her. 

The  sense  of  sorrow  and  of  loss,  which,  through  long  years 
had  been  mercifully  hidden  from  her  by  her  mental  diseasej 
now  came  over  her  -with  the  intensity  of  a  recent  occurrence  ; 
and  she  turned  with  a  child's  wild  and  unreasoning  home- 
sickness from  the  strange  faces  around  her,  although  those 
faces  expressed  but  kindness.  It  was  only  after  an  opiate 
had  been  administered,  and  Mrs.  Wynn,  taking  her  in  her 
arms  as  she  would  have  taken  an  infant,  had  soothed  her  with 
low-breathed  words  of  hope  and  promise,  that^Ida  became 
calm,  and  yielded  to  the  gentle  slumber  which  was  now  steal- 
ing over  her.  Having  attained  this  point,  she  had  her 
removed  to  a  small  room  adjoining  Mabel's,  and,  undressing 
her  with  Venus'  help,  she  laid  heron  a  coscy  little  white- 
curtained  bed.  While  doing  this,  she  discovered  the  gold 
coin  which  the  child  wore  around  har  neck,  and  the  little  roll 
of  silk  which  Venus  had  attached  to  the  same  cord. 

"  What  is  this  ?  —  a  charm  ?  "  she  asked  of  her  assistant. 

*'  Laws,  no,  missis !  "  replied  Venus.     "  'Pears  like  it 's  a 


IDA     MAT.  199 

charm,  but  t  a'n't.  You  see,  missis,  I  knowd  from  the  very 
fust  dat  dis  yer  child  never  was  n't  no  nigger,  and  so  thinks  I, 
I  '11  just  save  dis  yer,  dat  I  reckoned  she  had  on  when  she 
was  kidnap,  and  maybe  some  day  somethin'  would  turn  up 
'bout  her." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  show  it  to  your  master  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
\Vynn,  regarding  with  great  interest  the  little  roll  that  lay  in 
her  hand. 

"  Well,  missis,  I  didn't  'zackly  know  how  he  'd  take  it.  I 
don't  want  say  nothin'  'gainst  Mass'  James,  but  you  know, 
missis,  what  some  folks  is  'bout  dese  yer  things,"  replied 
Venus,  with  a  wary  fear  of  committing  herself  by  any  obnox- 
ious candor. 

Mrs.  Wynn  smiled  at  her  caution,  and,  thus  encouraged, 
Venus  went  on. 

"  I  did  tell  him  I  thought  she  was  kidnap,  one  day,  when 
he  corned  in  to  ax  how  she  's  gettin'  on ;  but  he  telled  me  shut 
up,  'cause,  if  she  was  kidnap,  she  was  some  poor  buckra  child, 
and  't  was  n't  none  o'  my  business.  So,  den,  missis,  I  see 
p'rhaps  'twould  be  jist  as  well  to  take  care  of  it  my  own  self,* 
and  so  I  did.  But  when  we  was  sold,  I  tied  it  round  her 
neck,  'cause  I  'se  scare  dat  she  'd  be  sold  'way  from  me  some 
time,  and  den  you  know  she  done  loss  it  altogeder." 

Commending  her  care  of  the  child's  interests,  Mrs.  Wynn 
left  her  to  watch  by  the  bedside,  and,  detaching  the  roll  from 
the  cord,  she  took  it  with  her  to  the  parlor,  where  hei 
guests  were  busily  engaged  in  discussing  this  unexpected 
event.  The  child's  words  and  her  earnest,  artless  manner  had 


200  IDA     MAT 

struck  an  instant  conviction  of  her  truthfulness  through  the 
heart  of  each  one  that  had  listened  to  her,  and  they  had  ob- 
tained from  Walter  every  particular  of  his  first  meeting  with 
her  on  the  mountain,  and  from  the  gentleman  who  had  seen 
Her  father,  all  he  could  remember  of  that  incident.  Mrs. 
Wynn  produced  the  fragment  of  anen,  which  she  had  ex- 
tracted from  its  silken  cover.  "  Here,"  said  she,  "  is  a  piece 
of  the  child's  dress,  which  Venus  had  the  good  sense  to  save, 
in  hopes  it  might,  at  Some  time,  lead  to  a  discovery.  She  says 
there  is  no  name  on  it,  but  you  see  it  is  very  prettily  and 
fancifully  marked." 

As  she  spoke  she  handed  it  to  her  brother,  who,  after  a 
moment's  careful  examination,  exclaimed,  triumphantly, 
"  There  is  a  name  traced  here  in  the  centre  of  the  leaf,  but  so 
delicately  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  read  it." 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  said  Walter,  seizing  it  eagerly.     "  You 

know,  as  you  told  me  yesterday  morning,  I  am  younger  than 

you  are,  and  perhaps  my  eyes  vrill  prove  better.     Yes,  here  is 

a  name,  —  the  ncme,  —  Ida  May  !     What  further  proof  13 

-  needed  ? " 


CHAPTER    IX. 

c*  With  •warmer  faith  let  woman's  lips 

0 
Whisper  the  child  whom  they  caresf , 

Learn  from  the  hand  that  shelters  thce, 
In  love,  to  succor,  pity,  bless. 

"  For  the  bravo  world  is  given  to  us, 

For  all  the  brave  in  heart  to  keep, 
Lest  thoughtless  hands  should  sow  the  I/horns 
Which  bleeding  generations  reap." 

PASSION  FLOWERS. 

A.  MONTH  after  the  events  related  in  the  last  chapter,  one 
afternoon.  Walter"  Varian,  with  Mrs.  Wynn  and  her  brother, 
were  seated  together  near  the  windows  of  the  south  parlor. 
A  wood  fire  was  burning  in  the  fire-place,  and  the  room,  with 
its  brightly-flowered  carpet,  and  damask  curtains,  had  assumed 
a  very  different  aspect  from  that  it  wore  in  its  summer  dress. 
But  the  cool  matting  and  the  muslin  hangings  at  the  windows 
would  hardly  have  suited  this  time  of  year,  for  it  was  now  past 
Christmas,  and  even  to  the  "sunny  south,"  winter  brings 
many  a  cold  and  dark  and  gloomy  day. 

They  were  sitting  together,  but  they  were  not  conversing ; 
and  every  few  minutes,  as  Mrs.  Wynn  glanced  her  eyes  up 


'202  1 1)  A     M  A  T  . 

from  her  sewing,  or  Mr.  Maynard  looked  over  the  top  of  the 
book  he  was  reading,  their  gaze  sought  the  window,  which 
commanded  a  view  of  the  avenue  for  a  short  distance,  as  if 
expecting  the  arrival  of  some  one.  At  length,  Mrs.  Wynn 
looked  at  her  watch,  and  said  "  He  ought  to  have  been 
here  half  an  hour  age ;  what  can  have  delayed  him  so 
long  ?  " 

Walter  threw  down  the  scissors,  with  which  he  had  been 
cutting  a  skein  of  thread  into  little  bits,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Here  he  is,  at  last.  2sow  for  news,  for  we  shall  certainly  get 
some  reply  to-day." 

At  this  moment  a  horse  came  galloping  furiously  up  the 
avenue,  and  a  little  woolly-headed  negro,  who  rode  him, 
throwing  himself  off  in  a  manner  to  impress  the  beholder  with 
admiration  for  his  skill  in  "  ground  and  lofty  tumbling," 
brought  the  animal's  career  to  a  sudden  close,  by  a  jerk  of 
the  bridle,  that  nearly  threw  him  on  his  haunches.  Then, 
throwing  the  bridle  over  the  limb  of  a  tree,  the  boy  bounded 
up  the  piazza  steps,  and  Walter,  opening  the  glass  doors 
which  communicated  with  the  piazza,  took  from  his  hand  the 
calico  bag,  which  contained  the  treasure  he  had  brought  from 
the  post-office,  half  a  mile  distant. 

"  Reckon  I  'so  done  fetched  it  dis  time,  Mass'  Walter,"  he 
eaid,  pulling  a  forelock  that  hung  down  directly  over  his  eyes, 
as  if  cultivated  for  purposes  of  civility,  and  making  a  scrape 
of  the  foot  that  would  have  done  honor  to  any  dancing 
master,  as  he  gave  the  bag  into  Walter's  hand  ':  .Reckon 
I'se  fetched  it  dis  time  ;  heap  ob  letter  in  dfire  " 


IDA     MAY.  203 

Walter  closed  the  door  again,  and,  opening  the  bag,  looked 
anxiously  over  its  contents,  until  he  found  a  letter  with  a 
Pennsylvania  post-mark,  which  he  gave  to  his  uncle.  Mr. 
Maynard  read  it  aloud.  Part  of  it  was  as  follows : 

'  But  the  pleasure  with  which  the  news,  your  letter  con- 
tained, was  received  through  our  village,  where  every  heart 
had  thrilled  with  a  painful  sympathy  for  the  sufferings  of  the 
lost  child,  was  damped  by  the  recollection  that  there  was  not 
one  of  her  relatives  left  to  rejoice  at  her  recovery  or  provide 
for  her  future  wants.  Her  father's  parents  were  both  the 
only  children  of  their  respective  families.  Mr.  May  had  one 
sister,  who  died  young,  and  his  wife's  brothers  and  sisters  had 
all  been  carried  to  the  grave  by  the  same  pulmonary  disease 
that  caused  her  death.  Thus  the  lost  child  had,  except  her 
father,  no  relatives  but  some  young  cousins,  whom  she  had 
seldom  seen,  and  who,  being  now  minors,  are  not  in  a  con- 
dition to  take  charge  of  her.  Her  father,  whom  you  mention 
as  having  been  seen  by  a  friend  at  New  Orleans,  did,  indeed, 
go  there,  after  he  had  spent  nearly  the  whole  of  his  moderate 
fortune  in  searching  for  her,  all  over  the  States,  and  hearing 
while  there  of  something  which  encouraged  his  hopes,  pro- 
ceeded from  there  to  Cuba,  in  order  to  find  her.  All  the 
property  he  had  left  he  turned  into  money,  and  took  with 
him,  and  that  is  the  last  that  was  ever  heard  from  him. 
He  wrote  that  he  was  going  from  there  to  France  ;  but  as  he 
has  never  returned,  or  sent  any  report  of  himself,  it  is  sup- 
posed that  he  was  either  lost  at  sea  in  a  hurricane  that  oc« 
18 


U04  IDA     MAT. 

iurred  about  that  time,  or  died  with  the  island  fever ;  fo:  ac 
was  there  at  a  sickly  time  of  year,  and  his  health  was  nricb 
impaired  by  his  suffering  and  anxiety. 

"  These  are  painful  details,  but  I  thought  it  right  thai  you 
should  know  them.  You  have  been  kind  to  the  little  girl 
and  perhaps  you  are  the  best  friend  she  has  left  on  earth.  I 
have  communicated  with  her  mother's  two  brothers-in-law, 
but  they  are  in  poor  circumstances,  and  do  not  offer  anything 
more  substantial  than  congratulations  on  her  recovery. 
There  is  a  young  woman  here,  who  took  care  of  her  when  she 
was  a  baby,  and  was  with  her  picking  flowers  on  the  day  she 
was  -stolen,  who  is  very  truly  delighted  to  hear  from  her 
again,  and  offers  her  a  home  at  her  house.  She  is  married  to 
a  small  farmer,  and  has  two  children  of  her  own  to  provide 
for,  but  I  have  no  doubt  she  would  do  the  very  best  she  coulr1 
for  the  child,  if  you  will  bring  her  here ;  but  she  has  no  means 
to  send  for  her  travelling  expenses.  Indeed,  the  five  years 
that  have  elapsed  since  she  left  here  have  somewhat  changed 
the  population  of  our  village,  and  there  seems  to  be  nobody 
in  particular  to  propose  any  plan  for  the  child,  and  I  hardly 
know  what  to  advise.  I  enclose  a  letter  for  Ida,  from  the 
woman  I  spoke  of,  who  seems  really  anxious  to  have  her  once 
more  under  her  care,  for  she  has  always  blamed  herself 
bitterly  for  leaving  the  child  alone  with  strangers,  and  thus 
occasioning  her  loss.  Hoping  to  hear  again  from  you  on 
this  subject,  '  I  remain,  tc.,  &c  " 

There  was  a  general  expression  of  dissatisfaction  on  the 


IDA    MAT.  200 

faces  of  the  listeners,  which  was  in  unison  with  Mr.  Maynard's 
own  feelings,  as  he  closed  this  Jetter ;  but,  for  a  moment, 
neither  spoke.  Walter  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 
Shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  shivering  all  over,  as  if  with 
cold,  he  said,  "  I  wonder  how  low  the  mercury  gets,  about  this 
time  of  year,  up  among  the  hills  in  Pennsylvania  ?  Judging 
from  this  specimen,  which  hasn't  lost  its  frigidity  in  coming 
all  this  distance,  I  should  imagine  the  thermometer  must 
have  indicated  forty  degrees  below  zero  the  morning  it  was 
written." 

"  I  don't  like  the  tone  of  it  at  all,"  replied  his  uncle.  "  The 
writer  is  evidently  determined  to  avoid  all  responsibility 
respecting  the  poor  little  orphan.  Shame  on  it !  I  '11  burn 
the  letter;"  and  he  flung  it  indignantly  towards  the  fire. 

But  Walter  sprang  forward,  and,  taking  it  carefully  with 
his  handkerchief,  as  if  afraid  of  being  frozen  if -he  touched  it, 
he  laid  it  on  the  mantel-piece. 

"  It  won't  melt,  even  in  so  warm  a  place  as  that,"  said  he, 
his  eyes  twinkling  mirthfully,  '!  and  Aunt  Emma  can  keep  it 
and  put  it  into  the  refrigerator  next  summer.  She  won't 
need  to  buy  any  ice." 

Mrs.  Wynn  smiled,  but  her  face  grew  grave  again,  and  she 
colored  a  little,  as  she  turned  to  her  brother,  saying,  "  It  is  a 
very  strange  combination  of  circumstances,  by  which  ibis  little 
girl  is  left  so  forlorn." 

"  Very  strange,  indeed  !  "  replied  he ;  "  but  no  doubt  such 
things  do  sometimes  occur." 

"  I  should  be  happy  to  keep  the  child  myself,    pursued 


206  IDA     MAY. 

Mrs.  Wynu,  with  a  little  hesitation.  "  Indeed,  I  had  spoken 
to  Mr  Wynn  about  a  plan  I  had,  of  adopting  her  as  our  own, 
in  case  it  seemed  advisable ;  for,  from  what  Col.  Vance  said, 
that  day  of  the  dinner-party,  I  felt  it  was  doubtful  if  her 
father  was  alive.  But,  y;u  know,  Mr.  Wynn  is  peculiar  in 
some  things,"  she  added,  casting  down  her  eyes  as  she  spoke, 
"  and  he  did  not  think  it  would  be  advisable,  — he  thought  it 
might  make  trouble  hereafter,  and  his  ideas  of  our  duty  to 
our  own  child  would  not  admit  of  it.  Indeed,  I  did  not 
insist  upon  it  as  I  should  if  I  had  consulted  the  dictates  of 
my  own  heart,  for  Mr.  Wynn  said  he  was  sure  Mabel  would 
not  like  it ;  and,  though  I  blush  to  say  it,  I  had  myself  seen 
some  traces  of  jealous  feeling  on  her  part." 

Mr.  Maynard's  lip  curled  with  a  pitying  smile,  as  he  looked 
at  his  sister's  glowing  cheek,  and  listened  to  the  timid  and 
deprecating  tones  of  her  low  voice.  The.  idea  of  the  little 
woman  having  courage  to  insist  upon  anything,  after  hex 
lordly  spouse  had  pronounced  his  dictum  upon  it,  had  been 
dismissed  from  his  mind"  loeg  ago.  But  he  did  not  tell  her 
so.  He  only  said,  in  reply,  "  I  am  sure  the  impulses  of  your 
heart  are  all  generous,  my  dear  sister,  and  you  will  do  all 
you  can  for  the  child  who  has  interested  us  both  so  much." 
Then  he  seemed  to  fall  into  a  reverie,  from  which  he  was 
aroused  by  Walter,  who,  after  a  few  moments,  stopped  drum- 
ming on  the  mantel-piece,  an  occupation  he  had  been  diligently 
pursuing  since  he  laid  down  the  letter,  and,  pressing  his 
hands  together  so  firmly  that  the  blood  left  them,  he  thre\r 
himself  heavily  into  an  arm-chair  exclaiming,  "  How  conven 


IDA     MAY.  207 

ient-  it  would  be,  just  now,  to  b»  rich  !  Uncle  Charles,  if  I 
had  Oakland  now  in  possession,  which  you  are  so  continually 
promising  me,  I  know  what  Vd  do." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  said  his  uncle,  his  face  brightening.  "  Then 
I  '11  have  no  further  doubts  about  my  plan.  Having  given 
you  a  thing  so  often,  I  did  n't  want  really  to  take  it  back, 
and  yet,  the  final  result  of  my  purposes  would  demand  a  little 
sacrifice  from  you,  and  also  some  help  from  your  Aunt  Emma. 
To  be  short  about  it,  I  should  enjoy  amazingly,  to  adopt  this 
child ;  but,  in  order  to  do  it,  I  must  curtail  your  pocket- 
money  a  little  now,  and  you  must  spare  a  reasonable  slice  off 
the  Oakland  estate  by-and-by,  so  that  my  adopted  child  may 
be  well  provided  for.  It  won't  be  felt  much  now,  or  for 
some  years  to  come  ;  but  I  find  every  year  my  income  grows 
a  little  less,  —  the  lands  are  all  wearing  out,  in  fact,  under 
our  ruinous  system  of  cultivation,  —  and,  by-and-by,  when 
you  want  to  spend  money  like  water,  as  all  youngsters  do 
when  they  are  travelling,  as  I  mean  you  shall  do,  after  you 
leave  college,  you  will  have  to*  economize  a  little.  Think  a 
minute  —  count  the  cost,  my  boy." 

"  I  don't  need  to  think,"  said  Walter,  eagerly  ;  "  how  kind 
you  are,  uncle  !  It  was  what  I  was  longing  to  propose,  but 
I  did  n't  want  to  seem  generous  with  what  was  n't  really  mine. 
You  shall  never  suffer,  if  the  land  does  wear  out.  I  can 
work  !  "  and  he  stretched  forth  his  young,  elastic  arms,  anc 
clenched  his  fists,  as  if  he  would  defy  the  world. 

His  uncle  looked  at  him  a  moment,  with  a  proud  and  ten 
der  expression.  How  nc  loved  the  boy !  How  he  felt  bia 
18* 


208  IDA     MAY. 

youth  renewed,  as  he  looked  on  that  vigorous  form,  and  that 
fine  face,  glowing  with  enthusiasm!  If  there  were  \reak 
places  in  that  character,  which  had  never  yet  been  tried  by  a 
single  cross,  if  there  was  danger  in  those  impetuous  impulses, 
he  was  not  the  one  to  see  it.  No  !  at  that  moment  he  would 
have  matched  his  boy,  his  "Walter,  against  the  universe  •  and 
all  on  account  of — what?  Because  he  had  consented  to  an 
act  of  generosity  that  would  give  him  only  pleasure  at  present, 

• 

and  from  which  he  did  not  seriously  believe  he  should  ever 
suffer  any  perceptible  loss.  So  fond  and  blind  is  love ! 

But  it  was  something  to  have  the  boy's  impulses  on  the 
right  side  !  0,  yes,  no  doubt  our  Walter  was  a  very  nice 
young  man ;  but  not  quite,  not  quite  so  perfect  as  Mr.  Charles 
Maynard  at  that  moment  imagined. 

Turning,  then,  to  his  sister,  he  went  on  to  say,  "  Perhaps, 

• 

then,  I  am  the  only  selfish  one  in  the  room ;  for,  Emma,  I 
must  acknowledge  that  I  have  lived  this  pleasant,  wandering, 
desultory  life  so  long,  that  I  shrink  from  going  back  to  my 
old  home,  there  to  fix  myself,  permanently,  with  a  respectable 
housekeeper  and  all  the  steady  retinue  which  the  education 
of  a  little  girl  requires.  Can  you  help  me  ?  I  think  brother 
Richard  must  get  interested  in  Ida  after  a  while.  She  will 
be  no  care  to  him,  and  she  certainly  cannot  be  an  annoyance ; 
and  I  am  not  afraid  but  Mabel  will  love  her,  too.  She  has 
been  so  long  the  only  pet  of  (he  house,  that  it  is  not  strange 
she  is  a  little  jealous,  now,  of  the  extreme  care  and  attention 
we  have  all  been  lavishing  upon  the  little  orphan  for  the  last 
The  child  will  claim  npthing  from  you  that  can 


IDA     MAY. 

affect  the  rn:<t  partial  estimate  of  your  duties  to  Mabel,  ana 

I  think  brother  Richard  cannot  object  to  having  her  board  in 
the  house,  and  be  under  ycur  care.     You  see  I  have  not  once 
spoken  of  the  additional  labor  I  throw  upon  you.     I  know 
your  heart,  Emma.     It  will  be  a  labor  of  love." 

"  You  do  me  but  simple  justice,  brother,"  said  Mrs.  "VVynn. 

II  Most  gladly  will  I  undertake  the  charge,  if  Mr.  Wynn  con- 
sents.    I  don't  think  he  can  have  any  objection.     Poor  little 
Ida  !  "  she  added/after  a  pause ;  "  I  'wonder  how  she  will  bear 
to  know  that  she  is  an  orphan  ?  " 

"  She  will  not  feel  so  badly  now,  as  she  would  to  have 
known  it  when  the  memory  of  her  past  life  first  came  back  to 
her,"  said  Mr.  Maynard.  "  During  the  last  month  she  has 
become  attached  to  us,  and  new  associations  and  new  sur- 
roundings will  soon  dim  that  glowing  picture  of  her  old  home, 
which  at  first  filled  her  brain.  She  is  such  a  mere  child  that 
she  must  soon  be  comforted,  as  all  children  are." 

"  And  she  is  so  interested  in  learning  to  read !  "  said  Walter. 
"  What  a  bright  child  she  is !  When  she  came  here  she 
did  n't  know  her  letters,  and  now  she  can  read  very  well  in 
short  words." 

"  You  began  with  her  the  day  after  we  found  her  out, 
did  n't  you  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Maynard. 

"  The  very,next  day,"  replied  Walter.  "I  asked  her  if 
she  would  like  to  know  her  letters,  and  she  learned  them  all 
in  an  loir  or  two.  It  is  a  perfect  pleasure  to  teach  such  a 
scholar  It  is  as  if  her  n  ind  had  just  waked  from  a  long 


210  IDA     MAT. 

lethargy,  and  every  faculty  seems  eager  to  acquire  arid  tc 
understand." 

"  What  a  pity  that  she  has  lived  so  long,  without  even  the 
first  rudiments  of  knowledge !  She  will  be  so  mortified,  when 
she  comes  to  associate  with  girls  of  her  own  age,"  said  Mrs. 
Wynn. 

"  She  '11  come  up  with  them,  —  I  '11  risk  her,"  replied 
Walter ;  and  then,  as  if  impressed  with  a  sudden  thought,  he 
added,  "  But  what  reason  and  justice  is  there  in  the  difference 
we  make  between  her  condition,  now  we  know  she  is  the  child 
of  white  parents,  and  tie  treatment  she  would  have  been  con- 
sidered entitled  to  if  we  had  not  made  that  discovery  ?  Why 
would  n't  she  have  needed  knowledge  as  much  then  as  now, 
and  been  as  capable  of  receiving  it  ?  Who  knows  how  many 
children  sold  in  the  slave  market,  as  she  was,  have  minds 
equally  susceptible  of  cultivation  ?  What  sense  is  there  in 
making  the  color  of  the  skin,  or  the  difference  of  lineage,  out- 
weigh every  other  indication  ?  " 

"  Stop,  O,  stop  !  "  cried  Mr.  Maynard.  "  You  are  asking 
questions  that  have  puzzled  wiser  heads  than  yours  —  " 

"  Hush  !  "  interrupted  Mrs.  Wynn,  laying  her  hand  on  her 
brother's  arm,  to  arrest  his  attention.  "  I  hear  the  children 
coming  down  stairs.  I  will  go  and  talk  with  Mr.  Wynn.  It 
vrill  be  better  to  say  nothing  about  the  letters  we  have  re 
ceived,  until  we  can  tell  decidedly  what  will  be  done  with 
her."  She  gathered  up  the  letters  and  her  work,  as  she 
spoke,  and  vanished  through  the'  door  leading  to  the  library, 
just  as  MabeJ  and  Ida  entered  the  room. 


IDA     MAT.  211 

Mr.  T\  /nn  opposed  but  few  objections  to  the  proposed  plan. 
In  his  secret  soul  he  regarded  it  as  foolish  and  Quixotic,  and 
thought  that  Ida  had  much  better  be  sent  back  to  her  friends 
at  the  north  :  but  he  saw  how  much  his  wife  was  interested 
for  the  child,  and  he  knew  that  his  brother-in-law  would  never 
be  induced,  by  any  argument  of  self-interest,  to  give  up  the 
scheme.  He  had  nose  other  to  urge,  and,  moreover,  he  did 
not  wish,  by  any  unwarrantable  opposition,  to  deprive  him- 
self of  the  pleasure  he  derived  from  the  society  of  the  good- 
natured  and  merry-hearted  Charles  Maynard  ;  for  plantation 
life  is  dull,  unless  there  be  cheerful  faces  and  merry  voices  to 
make  light  and  music  in  the  dwelling,  and,  except  during 
Walter's  brief  visits,  the  pleasant  old  bachelor  provoked 
nearly  all  the  noisy  mirth  that  was  heard  in  this  household. 
Mr.  Maynard  had  great  facility  in  adapting  himself  to  the 
disposition  and  habits  of  those  with  whom  he  lived.  He  held 
his  own  opinions  quietly,  and  he  had  great  tact  in  never  hit- 
ting them  carelessly  against  the  sharp  corners  of  other  people's 
theories.  Therefore  it  was,  that,  almost  unconsciously  to 
either,  it  had  become  quite  necessary  to  Mr.  Wynn  to  retain 
him  in  his  family,  and,  provided  he  was  not  called  upon  to 
give  money,  or  time,  or  care,  to  the  orphan  girl,  he  was  will- 
ing that  his  wife  and  her  brother  should  take  such  measures 
as  suited  them  respecting  her. 

Happy  in  this  permission,  Mrs.  Wynn  went  back  with  a 
light  heart  to  the  parlor,  where  her  brother  still  remained 
with  Walter  and  the  children,  and  by  a  word  and  a  gesture 
signified  to  him  her  husband's  acquiescence.  Then,  drawing 


212  IDA     MAY. 

Ida  <o  her  side,  she  told  her,  very  gently  and  tenderly,  of  the 
news  they  had  received,  and  that  she  was  now  alone  in  the 
world,  with  none  to  love  her  as  they  would  love  her,  who 
were  anxious,  from  that  moment,  to  adopt  her  as  their  own. 
The  child  wept  bitterly  at  this  disappointment  of  her  hopes, 
but  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  help  being  consoled  by  the 
kindness  of  those  around  her.  She  had  a  warm  heart,  aud 
she  had  already  learned  to  love  dearly  those  who  had  been 
the  means  of  rescuing  her  from  her  abject  situation,  and  who 
had  done  so  much  to  make  her  happy. 

The  letter  which  the  same  mail  had  brought  for  Ida,  from 
her  old  nurse,  Bessy,  was  full  of  the  wannest  expressions  of 
interest  and  affection,  urging  her  to  come  and  share  her  hum- 
ble home,  and  promising  to  secure  for  her  every  advantage  in 
her  power.  Ida's  eyes  overflowed  again,  as  it  was  read  to 
her,  but  she  expressed  no  inclination  to  accept  the  invitation. 
Ties  later  formed  were  stronger,  and,  placing  her  hand  in 
Mr.  Maynard's,  she  said,  as  she  wiped  away  her  tears,  "  I 
will  stay  here  and  be  your  little  girl,  Uncle  Charles,  —  yours 
and  Aunt  Emma's." 

"  And  mine,  too  !  "  cried  Walter,  who  was  sitting  on  a  low 
seat,  beside  her. 

"  Yes,  and  yours,  too,  if  Mabel  will   let  me,"  said  Ida, 
looking  up  appealingly  to  Mabel,  who  was  leaning  ov 
back  of  her  mother's  chair. 

"Ill  'm  sure  I  won't  hinder  you  "  exclaimed  she,  a  little 
roughly,  while  the  roses  deepened  their  crimson  on  her  cheek. 

Mr.  Maynard  looked  from  one  to  the  Other,  and  laughed 


IDA     MAY  213 

heartily.  Mrs.  Wynn.  looked  up,  also,  and  apparently,  a 
new  thought  suddenly  crossed  her  mind,  for  a  shadow  passed 
over  her  face,  and  she  withdrew  her  arm  from  the  little  form 
it  had  encircled.  In  another  moment,  however,  she  pressed 
the  child  to  her  bosom  again,  and  kissed  her  with  great  ten- 
derness, as  if  to  atone  for  an  involuntary  wrong. 

It  was  settled,  then,  that  Ida  should  remain  in  her  present 
home,  receiving  instruction  from  Mabel's  governess,  who, 
patient  soul,  was  glad  at  last  to  have  a  pupil  that  really 
desired  to  learn,  and  with  the  proud  and  delighted  Venus  to 
be  still  her  "  mauma."  This  latter  personage  was  now,  indeed, 
in  a  state  of  perfect  beatitude,  at  the  change  which  had  come 
over  the  fortunes  of  her  little  pet.  She  made  herself  glorious 
with  aprons  of  every  shape  and  hue,  and  tired  everybody  with 
her  ceaseless  repetitions  of  her  own  sagacity  and  Ida's  merits, 
and  made  everybody  laugh  by  the  convulsive  giggle  that 
invariably  ended  the  story. 

From  the  day  that  Ida's  memory  was  awakened,  and  her 
mind,  recovered  its  tone,  there  had  been  a  change  in  her  ap- 
pearance. Instead  of  the  slow,  dreamy,  and  listless  manner 
that  had  formerly  marked  her,  her  eyes  now  sparkled  with 
life,  and  her  step  became  quick  and  buoyant.  As  she  became 
aware  of  her  own  ignorance,  she  seemed  ngt  for  a  moment  to 
relax  her  eager  craving  for  knowledge,  and  the  readiness  with 
which  she  seized  upon  different  studies,  and  the  retentiven<:S3 
of  her  memory,  equally  astonished  and  delighted  Mr.  Maynard 

Thus  passed  some  happy  years,  over  which  "  let  the  cui 
tain  drop." 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  At  the  summit  of  her  dominion,  in  the  depth  of  her  luxury,  her 
Titanic  institutions  in  full  action,  and  her  appetites  surfeited  with  in- 
dulgence, we  see  that  it  is  all  a  vision  of  death.  Inarticulate  proph- 
ecies of  lamentation  are  in  its  music,  spectres  sit  around  its  banquets, 
and  the  grim  genius  of  destruction  sits  and  laughs  in  its  strongest 
places."  —  ANON. 

THE  curtain  rises.  Eight  years  have  past.  It  is  Christ- 
mas eve  at  Wynn  Hall. 

The  air  is  soft  and  stiii,  but  the  sky  is  clouded  and  the 
night  is  dark,  and  the  flood  of  light,  that  streams  from  every 
window  of  the  mansion,  falls  in  long  lines  through  the  misty 
atmosphere  far  in  among  the  stately  pines  that  have  kept 
solemn  "  watch  and  ward  "  over  so  many  succeeding  periods 
of  Christmas  festivity.  Lights  are  flashing  also  in  yonder 
grove,  which  may  be  seen  far  away  across  the  cotton  fields ; 
and,  beneath  the  glare  of  the  flaming  torches,  a  jo}rous  mul- 
titude of  the  "  field  peojple  "  are  here,  around  a  well-spread 
table,  gorging  themselves  with  meats  of  different  kinds,  which 
they  taste  now  for  the  first  time  in  a  year.  This  is  a  com- 
mencement of  the  yearly  holidays,  and  every  servant  has 
to-day  received  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  a  blanket,  and  a  piec« 


IDA     MAY.  215 

of  meat,  and  has  been  dismissed  from  all  work  foi  a  week ; 
for  Richard  Wynn,  Esq.,  is  proud  of  his  descent  from  the  land 
where  Christmas  is  observed  most  joyously,  and  he  as  strictly 
forbids  work,  and  encourages  unrestrained  liberty  among  hia 
people,  at  this  time,  as  he  enforces  the  contrary  rule  for  the 
remainder  of  the  year.  0,  how  delightful  is  this  season  of 
i  oft '  They  have  looked  forward  to  it  with  such  longing. 
The  ordinary  restraints  are  removed;  they  have  plenty  to 
cat,  new  and  clean  clothes  to'wear,  and  all  the  liberty  con- 
sistent with  their  circumstances.  Now  the  dull,  brutalized 
faces  begin  to  light  up  with  a  more  human  expression  of  hope 
and  desire,  and  the  care-worn,  furrowed  brows  assume  some- 
what the  air  of  content.  Christmas  eve  their  master  likes  to 
have  them  gather  in  this  grove,  which  is  well  lighted  for 
the  occasion,  and  devote  the  hours  to  hearty  mirth ;  and, 
though  not  much  accustomed  to  this  mood,  it  is  not  long 
before  the  stimulating  influence  of  unfamiliar  food,  and  the 
beer  with  which  they  are  plentifully  supplied,  raise  their 
animal  spirits  to  the  requisite  height,  and  the  old  woods 
reecho  with  laughter  and  song,  and  the  mingling  of  many 
voices  in  all  sorts  of  discordant  sounds. 

The  remainder  of  the  week  each  individual  passes  accord- 
ing to  his  inclination.  Those  who  have  wives  or  families  on 
distant  plantations  are  allowed  at  this  time  to  visit  them, 
provided  they  may  be  trusted  out  of  bounds  for  more  than 
twenty-four  hours  at  once.  The  remaining  servants  fish,  set 
traps  in  the  woods,  or  repair  their  houses  and  fortify  them- 
selves io  various  ways  against  the  ensuing  winter ;  or.  mora 
19 


216  IDA     MAY. 

frequently,  preferring  the  dolce  fat  niente,  lie  all  day  in  the 
sun  and  sit  lounging  around  the  cabin  fire,  enjoying  the  un- 
wonted luxury  of  full  repose  after  the  exhausting  toil  of  tho 
summer.  Some  there  are  who  vary  these  enjoyments  by  get- 
ting drunk,  ad  libitum,  which  they  are  now  allowed  to  do  if 
they  can  procure  the  means,  although,  temperance  is  very 
strictly  enforced  at  other  times.  In  short,  this  is  the  season 
when  they  may  enjoy  themselves  "  to  the  top  of  their  bent ; ' 
and  that  these  enjoyments  are  so  wholly  animal  gratifications, 
is  only  what  may  reasonably  be  expected  of  these  degraded 
beings,  chattelized  through  long  generations. 

It  is  Christmas  eve  in  the  cabin.  It  is  Christmas  eve  in 
the  hall.  Everywhere  lights  are  flashing,  and  merry  voices 
ring  out  on  the  air.  Above  and  below,  through  the  spacious 
parlors,  and  over  the  broad  piazzas,  light  footsteps  are  falling 
and  graceful  forms  are  flitting,  for  the  hospitable  old  hall  is 
crowded  with  guests,  and  old  and  young  are  eager  to  enjoy 
the  gayety  that  reigns  everywhere.  In  the  drawing-room 
are  gathered  the  grandfathers  and  grandmothers,  looking  on 
while  the  blooming  young  matrons  and  their  husbands,  the 
elderly  spinsters,  the  antiquated  bachelors,  and  the  young 
men  and  maidens,  mingle  in  a  social  dance,  their  airy  feet 
keeping  time  to  the  lively  strains  that  proceed  from  a  fiddle. 
held  in  the  hands  of  "  Uncle  Ned."  Everybody  feels  like 
dancing  when  Uncle  Ned  fiddles,  and  he  knows  it,  and  ic- 
joices  in  his  power,  as  he  sits  on  the  piazza,  just  outside  the 
open  window,  nodding  his  head  and  rolling  his  eyes,  and 
opening  his  mouth  so  that  every  one  of  his  white  teeth  glistens 


I  D  A     M  A  Y  .  .  217 

in  the  light  that  streams  over  him ;  and  if  anybody  could  stop 
gazing  at  the  dancers  long  enough,  they  might  almost  discover 
what  he  had  for  supper,  they  can  see  so  far  down  his  capa- 
cious throat.  Some  of  the  dancers  do  smile  as  they  glance 
at  him  in  the  pauses  of  the  dance  ;  but  he  rolls  up  his  eyes  a 
little  higher  and  bends  his  head  sideways  a  little  nearer  his 
beloved  instrument,  and  his  elbow  shakes  a  little  faster,  and 
soon  the  observers  find  they  have  enough  to  do  to  "  face  the 
music,"  without  attending  to  the  queer  looks  of  the  musician. 

In  the  south  parlor,  Mr.  Wynn  with  a  few  of  his  grave 
and  quiet  compeers  were  coseyly  seated  around  whist-tables, 
discussing,  in  a  dignified  undertone,  the  affairs  of  the  state 
and  nation,  or  pausing  now  and  then  to  look  through  the  open 
doors  into  the  adjoining  rooms,  when  a  fresh  burst  of  music, 
or  a  shout  of  mirth,  attracted  their  attention. 

In  the  dining-room  the  tables  had  been  cleared  and  set 
against  the  wall,  and  the  boys  and  girls,  together  with  a  few 
"  children  of  a  larger  growth,"  who  had  wearied  of  dancing, 
were  exercising  themselves  in  the  time-honored  games  of 
"  hunt  the  slipper  "  and  "  blind-man's-buff;  "  while  all  along 
the  piazza,  the  house  servants,  dressed  in  all  their  nnery, 
were  crowding  in  at  the  doors  and  windows,  with  a  keen 
sense  of  enjoyment  at  seeing  the  fun,  and  many  sententious 
remarks  respecting  the  merits  of  the  different  performers. 
Their  children,  neatly,  and  in  some  instances  tastefully 
dressed,  had  gathered  in  the  corners  and  angles  of  the  dining- 
room,  whispering  and  laughing,  and  now  and  then  darting 
scross  the  floor  and  joining  in  the  game,  as  if  they  found  it 


218  IDA     MAY. 

impossible  to  resist  the  temptation.  But  their  interference 
was  generally  received  with  a  good-natured  remark,  or  a 
pleasant  jest,  and  at  length  the  most  of  them  were  mingling 
unrestrainedly  in  the  sport.  Children  are  usually  true  cos- 
mopolitans. 

Near  th.3  glass  door,  that  opened  upon  the  piazza  from  this 
room,  a  group  of  women  were  standing.  One  of  them  might 
readily  have  been  recognized  as  our  friend  Venus ;  for  the 
passing  years  had  touched  her  lightly,  and  she  seemed  to 
have  renewed  her  youth  instead  of  growing  old.  A  great 
improvement  was  perceptible  in  her  dress.  Her  turban  was 
of  the  finest  cambric,  and  her  bright  plaid  dress  was  of  nice 
woollen  material,  while  her  aprons,  which,  in  defiance  of  all 
criticism,  she  still  persisted  in  wearing  one  above  another, 
were  made,  one  of  black  and  the  other  of  green  silk,  ant? 
abundantly  ruffled. 

She  turned  to  one  of  her  companions,  and  the  happy  look 
which  she  had  hitherto  worn  faded  from  her  face,  as  she  said, 
*rith  a  sigh, 

"  Laws  bless  us !  Patra,  how  Mass'  Charles  would  'joy 
heself  ef  he  was  ony  here  now  !  'Pears  like  de  Lord  might  a 
found  somebody  dat  needed  gwine  up  to  heaven  qjore  'n  Mass' 
Charles,  an  lef  him  down  here  wid  us  little  longer." 

"  Dat  was  mighty  onhansome  ting  in  de  Lord,  takin  Mass' 
Charles  dat  way  !  "  replied  Patra.  "  0,  ef  you  'd  ony  been 
here  when  de  news  come  !  Reckons  dere  was  powerful  heap 
ob  tears  shed  den.  Poor  Miss  Emma !  she  was  in  de  most 
awful  ?st  perdition  all  dat  night ;  'pears  l;ke  she  die  or  bo 


•  I  D  A     M  A  Y  210 

stracted,  or  d'runged,  or  some  such  like,  she  feel  so  bery  bad. 
An'  Mass'  Richard,  too,  —  tell  you  what,  it  do  take  some- 
thin'  to  take  him  down,  —  an'  he  was  took  down  dot  time, 
sure  "nuff." 

"  Must  been  mighty  hard  for  Mass'  Walter,  too."  said 
Venus,  "  'way  off  dere  in  strange  country.  Must  overcome 
him  powerful." 

"  Well,  't  is  as  't  is,  and  can't  be  no  't  iser,"  replied  the 
mercurial  Patra,  throwing  off  the  recollection  of  grief  with  a 
prolonged  sigh,  and  turning  to  the  gay  group  within  the  room. 
"  We  was  dat  'stounded  for  one  while  we  did  n't  none  ob  us 
tink  ob  notin',  but  we  'se  got  ober  it  now  some,  so  't  a'n't 
worth  while  'flectin'  'bout  it.  Look  at  Miss  Mable !  She  do 
look  powerful  handsome  in  dat  white  satin  gown,  don't  she  ? " 

"  Dat  she  do,"  replied  Venus,  in  a  tone  slightly  acidified, 
"  handsome  clo'se  does  set  off  some  folks  mighty  powerful." 

"  Handsome  clo'se  !  "  replied  the  other  indignantly.  "  Dat 
jest  you  ugliness,  Aunt  Venus.  'Fore  I'd  have -sich  a 
jealous  dcspumsition !  You  allers  was  jealous,  'cause  Miss 
Mable  was  heap  handsomer  'n  your  Miss  Ida,  —  allers." 

"  Me  jealous  !  "  retorted  Venus.  "  What  for  I  be  jealous  ? 
A'n't  no  need  o'  bein'  jealous,  'cause  a  nigger  like  you  don't 
know  'nuff  to  tell  who  you  ought  to  'mire  most.  You  a'n't 
no  judge  who 's  handsome." 

"  Hush,  girls !  "   said  Maum    Abby,  who  was  just  then 

passing,  and  overheard  these  last  sentences.     "  You  have  no 

need  to  quarrel  about  your  young  ladies,  —  they  are  both 

beautiful,"  and  her  eyes  rested  with  a  long,  melancholy  gaze 

19* 


220  IDA     MAY. 

4 
upon  the  two  maidens  who  stood  in  the  doorway  opposite 

them. 

"  Dat  fact,  Maurn  Abby,"  replied  Venus,  in  a  calmer  tone ; 
"  but  't  won't  neber  do  for  Miss  Ida  to  stan'  dere  no  longer. 
She  '11  be  gettin'  chilly  'fore  she  knows  it.  De  draft  o'  wind 
from  dis  yer  door,  has  clar  intercourse  all  ober  her."  Away 
she  hurried  to  give  a  timely  caution,  but  before  she  reached 
the  spot  where  they  were  standing,  Walter  Varian  had  joined 
them. 

"  Here  you  are,  then,  .young  ladies,"  he  said,  gayly.  "  1 
0ave  been  looking  for  you.  Our  guests  in  the  drawing- 
room  are  tired  of  dancing,  and  have  been  asking  for  a  little 
music ;  and  I  am  a  committee  of  three  sent  to  inform  you 
of  it." 

"We  were  tired  of  dancing,  also,"  said  Ida,  "and  came 
out  here  to  look  at  the  children  a  few  moments.  I  like  to 
see  them  playing.  How  careless  and  happy  they  seem  !  how 
entirely  they  give  themselves  up  to  their  mirth  !  " 

"  And  how  well  those  dark  butterflies,  with  their  crimson 
trimmings,  serve  to  set  off  the  radiant  complexions  ot  their 
playmates  ! "  said  Walter,  pointing  to  a  group  of  gayly-clressed 
negro  children,  who  were  clustering  around  two  fair  patri- 
cian girls,  busily  engaged  in  an  attempt  to  "  thread  the 
needle." 

"Yes,  they  serve  very  well  as  foils,"  said  Mabel.  "I  have 
often  noticed  that  white  children  never  look  so  pretty  as  in 
the  arms  of  their  colored  nurses ;  and  the  good  souls  are  so 
proud  of  thorn,  too  !  " 


IDA     MAT.  221 

"  \  aur  father  spent  that  winter  in  Germany,  to  some  pur- 
pose," said  Walter,  addressing  her.  "  This  is  quite  equal  to 
Christmas  in  the  '  Fader-land,'  only  you  have  no  Christmas- 
tree.  I  wonder  at  that  omission." 

"  We  had  one  last  year,"  replied  Mabel,  "  but  it  was  so 
much  trouble  that  we  concluded  to  dispense  with  it  this  year. 
Maum  Abby  was  the  only  one  who  had  any  taste  in  arranging 
it,  and  now  she  has  a  lame  wrist  so  that  she  can  do  but  little ; 
and,  after  all,  they  are  childish  affairs.  It  is  hard  for  grown 
people  to  have  much  faith  in  Kriss  Kringle." 

"  0,  it  does  us  good  to  be  children  sometimes  !  "  said  Ida, 
— "  to  go  out  of  our  conventionalisms,  and  our  starched-uj 
proprieties,  and  sympathize  a  few  moments  with  the.  simple 
joys  of  childhood.  For  my  part,  I  should  much  enjoy  play- 
ing with  the  children  here  a  while  to-night.  Suppose  we  join 
the  game  a  few  minutes." 

"  Simple  tastes  do  well  enough  to  talk  about,"  replied 
Mabel,  with  a  slight  curl  of  her  rosy  lip ;  "  but  children 
always  savor  too  much  of  bread  and  milk  to  suit  my 
fancy." 

"We  will  join  them,  perhaps,  by  and  by,"  said  Walter, 
laughing.  "  if  Ida  wishes.  I  don't  object  to  a  good  boister- 
ous game  now  and  then.  As  Ida  says,  it  brings  back  our 
youth,  and  mine,  you  know,  is  rapidly  departing."  His  eyes 
gleamed  with  mirth  as  ba  ran  his  fingers  carelessly  through 
his  wavy  and  abundant  hair,  which  as  yet  certainly  gave  no 
token  of  age.  But  he  dropped  his  voice  a  little,  as  he  added, 
turning  expressively  to  his  cousin,  "  I  am  old  in  the  hearfu 


222  IDA     MAT. 

calendar,  at  any  rate,  —  we  don';  reckon  that  time  by  months 
and  years." 

"  They  are  calling  us  from  the  parlor,"  said  Ida,  whose 
attention  being  thus  turned  in  another  direction,  she  had  only 
imperfectly  heard  these  last  words. 

"  Yes,"  said  Walter,  "  they  will  call  me  a  dilatory  messen 
ger,  if  I  allow  you  to  stay  here  longer.  Let  us  go  and  have 
some  music.  Come,  Ida ;  come,  Ma-belle." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  with  which  he  thus  pro- 
nounced his  cousin's  name,  that  caused  Ida  to  look  up  ear- 
nestly into  his  face.  His  eyes  were  bent  upon  Mabel's  with  an 
unmistakable  expression,  as  he  offered  her  his  arm  ;  and  for 
one  instant  he  touched,  with  a  quick,  nervous  pressure,  the 
white,  jewelled  fingers  that  rested  there. 

There  was  a  slight  flushing  of  Ida's  cheek,  and  a  drooping 
of  her  eyelids  for  one  moment,  —  nothing  more,  no  other  sign 
of  feeling  or  change  of  demeanor ;  and  yet,  in  that  one  mo- 
ment, the  secret  and  fondly  cherished  romance  of  her  whole 
life  died  out  in  Ida's  heart,  and  she  felt  the  cold,  sharp  stab 
of  the  sword-like  thought,  that  she  was  cut  off  from  the  sym- 
pathy on  which  she  had  counted  to  aid  her  in  the  prosecution 
of  a  great  work,  and  that  she  was  alone  in  the  unsympathiz- 
ing  and  distrustful  circle,  in  which  for  a  while  she  was  com- 
pelled to  remain. 

Ida  May  had  only  that  day  arrived  at  the  hall,  after  a 
prolonged  absence.  For  three  years  after  her  adoption  by 
Mr.  Maynard,  she  had  remained  under  the  care  of  Mrs. 
Wynn,  daily  improving  in  health  and  pursuing  her  long-nog- 


IDA    MAY.  223 

looted  education  with  an  avidity  that  at  the  end  of  that  time 
had  advanced  her  as  far  in  her  studies  as  is  common  with 
girls  of  her  age,  who  have  had  much  better  advantages. 
Then  came  a  general  overturning  of  the  sober  routine  of 
domestic  arrangements.  By  one  of  those  mysterious  changes 
of  climate  not  uncommon  at  the  south,  this  part  of  the  district 
which  had  hitherto  been  remarkably  healthy,  had  been  grad- 
ually becoming  infected,  during  the  summer  months,  with  a 
sickly  miasma.  Mr.  Wynn  began  first  to  fail  beneath  the 
poisonous  air,  and  then  others  of  the  family  being  affected,  it 
was  reluctantly  decided  necessary  to  remove  during  the  warm 
season  to  another  location.  Walter  had  by  this  time  finished 
his  collegiate  course,  and  Mr.  Maynard  determined  to  fulfil 
a  long-cherished  plan,  and  take  his  nephew  with  him  on  a 
lengthened  tour  through  foreign  lands.  Mr.  Wynn,  for  whom 
a  sea  voyage  had  been  prescribed,  accompanied  them  with  his 
wife  through  England  and  Germany,  having  just  placed  the 
two  girls  at  boarding  school  in  Baltimore.  In  making  these 
arrangements,  it  had  been  a  question  of  much  debate  what 
should  be  done  with  Venus.  Ida  longed  to  take  her  with 
her,  but  if  she  left  the  State  she  could  not  return  again,  and 
it  was  as  yet  uncertain  how  long  the  girls  might  remain  at 
school.  Finding  that  she  must  be  separated  from  her  nurse, 
Ida,  in  accordance  with  Venus'  private  request,  had  begged 
of  Mr.  Maynard  that  she  might  be  hired  somewhere  in  tho 
neighboring  city,  and  that  she  might  be  allowed  a  certain  per 
centage  on  her  wages,  which  would  in  tr.e  course  of  a  fev» 
years  enable  her  to  buy  her  freedom.  -> 


224  IDA     MAT.       . 

To  this  plan  Mr  Maynard  readily  agreed  ;  but.  when  Mr 
Wynn  was  informed  of  it,  he  made  many  objections,  and, 
finally,  ended  the  discussion  by  declaring,  that  if  his  brother- 
in-law  chose  to  be  so  foolish,  and  set  so  bad  an  example,  he 
would  secure  himself  against  being  injured  by  it,  for,  from  the 
day  she  was  free,  Venus  should  never  enter  the  boundaries 
of  his  plantation.  He  would  have  no  free  niggers  exciting 
improper  ideas  among  his  servants.  Therefore,  though  Venus 
had  in  three  years  amassed  the  sum  fixed  upon  as  the  price 
of  her  freedom,  she  had  refrained  from  taking  any  further 
measures  to  secure  it,  lest  it  should  be  the  means  of  prevent- 
ing her  from  visiting  Wynn  Hall  during  the  vacations  wljen 
the  young  ladies  would  probably  return  home.  This  was  not 
so  much  an  act  of  self-denial  as  appears  at  first  sight,  for, 
previous  to  his  departure,  Mr.  Maynard  had  assured  her  that 
his  will  was  made,  and,  in  case  any  fatal  accident  happened 
to  him  in  his  journeyings,  she  would  become  the  property  of 
Miss  Ida. 

After  a  year's  residence  abroad,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wynn  had 
returned  home  much  improved  in  health  ;  but  the  young 
ladies  had  continued  at  school,  only  returning  to  the  hall 
once  a  year,  at  the  Christmas  vacation.  Mr.  Maynard  and 
his  nephew,  after  travelling  in  Egypt  and  Palestine,  had 
returned  to  Europe,  and  leisurely  explored  every  country 
that  contained  things  venerable,  or  curious,  or  rare,  in  art,  or 
picturesque  in  natural  scenery.  Perhaps  there  was  no  part 
of  his  life  which  the  genial,  happy-hearted  man  enjoyed  so 
entirely,  as  the  three  years  thus  employed.  "  He  that  carries 


IDA     MAY.  225 

much,  brings  much  away,"  saith  the  proverb ;  and,  having 
pursued  a  course  of  reading  with  special  reference  to  this 
plan,  through  many  previous  years,  he  knew  where  to  look 
for  things,  and  was  fully  prepared  to  understand  aL1  the  ante 
cedents  and  associations  connected  with  them,  wh  in  found, 
and  to  impart  these  to  his  companion. 

They  rested,  at  length,  from  their  wanderings,  at  the  uni- 
versity of  Gottingen,  where  it  was  determined  that  Walter 
should  remain  a  year  or  two  to  complete  his  law  studies.  It 
was  in  accordance  with  his  own  wishes  that  he  studied  a  pro- 
fession ;  but,  even  had  he  not  desired  it,  his  uncle  would  have 
advised  it.  He  knew  that  though  he  should  not  need  it  as  a 
means  of  livelihood,  he  would  be  much  happier,  and  more 
useful,  to  have  some  steady  employment,  and  some  object  of 
ambition  ;  and  that  Walter's  restless  temperament  and  active 
mind,  could  not  with  impunity  be  trusted  to  the  pleasant  idle- 
ness amid  which  he  had  glided  dreamily  down  the  stream  of 
time.  Here,  then,  he  intended  to  leave  Walter,  and,  after 
going  home  for  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Wynn,  who  incessantly  begged 
for  his  return,  he  would  perhaps  induce  her  and  her  husband 
to  try  another  voyage  across  the  Atlantic,  taking  with  them 
Mabel  and  Ida,  for  a  little  tour  on  the  continent,  and  then 
they  would  all  return  home  together  when  Walter's  studies 
wer.e  finished. 

But,  "  man  proposes  and  God  disposes."  A  week  from  the 
night  on  which  these  delightful  plans  had  been  proposed  and 
discussed,  while  Walter,  for  the  first  time,  did  the  honors  of 
bis  own  room  in  the  university  the  warm  heart  of  Charles 


226  IDA     MAT. 

iuaynard  had  ceased  to  beat,  and  those  lips,  on  which  had 
ever  dwelt  words  of  kindness,  were  still  and  cold  in  death 
He  had  passed  through  many  perils  in  his  journey  ings  by 
sea  and  land,  to  die  of  a  rapid  and  fatal  fever,  in  a  strange 
country,  vith  none  to  weep  over  him  of  all  whom  he  had 
oved  ai  d  blessed,  except  his  grief-stricken  and  almost  heart- 
broken nephew. 

Compelled  to  make  his  uncle's  grave  in  a  foreign  soil,  Wal- 
«er  relinquished  the  purpose  of  returning  home,  which  he  had 
lbrmed  in  the  first  shock  of  his  sorrow.  The  sods  that  cov- 
ered that  form  made  a  foreign  soil  seem  like  his  native  land. 
They  did  more.  The  living  presence  of  that  honored  and 
Beloved  relative  would  have  been  a  shield  between  him  and 
iie  temptations  of  vice.  The  sight  of  that  grave,  bringing 
frith  it,  as  it  did,  so  many  pure  memories  of  youth  and  home, 
always  aroused  the  better  principles  and  the  refined  instincts 
of  his  nature,  and  kept  him  from  falling  into  the  gross  dissi- 
pation which  too  often  accompanies  a  student's  life  abroad. 

Meantime,  Mabel  and  Ida  had  continued  at  school  together 
<\iring  three  years,  associating  as  of  course  they  must  in  that 
«>nnection,  but  with  not  much  strengthening  of  affection  or 
•utimaey,  as  time  went  on.  Mabel  had  from  the  first  been 
^alous  of  the  attention  which  her  uncle  and  cousin  bestowed 
ipon  the  orphan  girl,  and  she  was  naturally  too  selfish  to  Sym- 
pathize with  their  benevolent  plans  respecting  her.  As  they 
grew  older,  and  it  became  evident  that  Ida  was  greatly  her 
superior  in  intellect,  and  was,  moreover,  gifted  with  a  quiet 
perseverance,  by  which  she  was  enabled  to  so  surpass  her  e  'en 


IDA     MAY.  '227 

in  "those  superficial  accomplishments  to  which  the  spoiled  child 
of  fortune  had  chiefly  devoted  her  attention,  this  jealousy 
deepened  into  a  feeling  of  positive  dislike,  which  was  only 
partially  concealed  from  its  object,  though  most  artfully 
hidden  from  others.  By  insinuations,  and  words  dropped  with 
seeming  carelessness,  she  contrived  to  misrepresent  many  cf 
Ida's  actions  and  sayings,  in  such  a  way  as  to  prejudice  her 
father  and  mother  against  her ;  and  though  Ida  kept  up  a 
constant  correspondence  with  Mr.  Maynard,  there  were  sev- 
eral causes  operating  unknown  to  him  during  his  long  absence, 
to  alienate  from  the  rest  of  his  family  this  child  of  his  adop- 
tion and  love. 

Mrs.  Wynn  was  generous  and  kind-hearted,  and  she  had 
faithfully  discharged  the  duties  she  had  promised  her  brother 
to  perform  for  Ida.  But  she  was  human,  and,  therefore,  not 
quite  perfect ;  and,  as  Ida's  presence  in  her  family  might 
thwart  her  favorite  plans  respecting  Mabel  and  Walter, 
though  she  never  encouraged  Mabel's  half-uttered  communi- 
cations, and  always  took  Ida's  part  in  any  question  that  arose 
between  them,  it  must  be  confessed  that  there  were  many 
times,  after  the  girls  had  nearly  attained  to  womanhood,  when 
the  anxious  little  lady  felt  that  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to 
her  mind  if  Ida  should  find  some  other  home  until  Walter 
was  safely  married  to  his  beautiful  cousin.  But  she  struggled 
conscientiously  with  these  thoughts,  and  imagined  she  kept 
them  strictly  concealed  from  every  one,  and,  most  of  all,  from 
the  orphan  girl  for  whom  she  really  had  a  warm  affection, 
and  who  had  been  committed  to  her  as  a  sacred  trust  by  the 
20 


228  ILA     MAY. 

brother  she  was  nsver  to  see  again.  Perhaps  they  were. not 
noticed  by  others,  and  might  not  have  been  visible  to  one  ot 
different  nature,  for  Mrs.  Wynn  was  invariably  gentle  and 
kind  ;  but  Ida,  though  a  clear-headed  and  strong-minded  girl, 
had  one  of  those  delicate  organizations  that  can  be  impressed 
by  the  "  sphere  "  of  those  with  whom  it  comes  in  contact,  and 
interpret  correctly  the  latent  meaning  of  a  word  or  a  look. 

She  had  never  been  much  attached  to  Mabel,  and,  making 
many  warm  friends  at  school,  she  did  not  so  much  notice  her 
growing  coldness,  but  it  was  with  deep  pain  that  she  became 
sensible  of  the  gradual  change  which  she  noticed  in  Mrs. 
Wynii.  It  was  nothing  of  which  she  could  complain,  nothing 
sufficiently  palpable  even  for  remark,  but,  nevertheless,  it  was 
there,  and  when  she  found  that  all  her  efforts  could  not  charm 
it  away,  she  began  to  shrink  away  from  them  a  little ;  her 
letters  to  Walter  grew  shorter  and  more  infrequent,  —  for  a 
word  and  a  gesture,  which  had  been  made  when  she  at  one 
time  received  some  letters  from  him,  had  spoiled  all  her 
pleasure  in  the  correspondence ;  she  began  to  spend  her  vaca- 
tions more  frequently  at  the  north,  with  her  friend  Bessy ;  and 
thus  it  was,  that,  during  the  two  years  following  the  death  of 
her  benefactor,  she  had  not  visited  the  place  where  he  sup- 
posed he  had  secured  her  a  permanent  home. 

Fortunately  for  the  poor  girl,  whom  Death  seemed  to 
pursue  so  relentlessly,  she  had  renewed  her  acquaintance  with 
the  devoted  friend  of  her  infancy,  and  was  at  her  house,  when 
she  received  the  dreadful  tidings  of  Mr.  Maynard's  sudden 
death.  The  passing  years,  that  had  worked  so  many  changes. 


IDA    MAT.  229 

had  left  bright  tokens  of  prosperity  to  Bessy.  Married  to  the 
proprietor  of  a  small  rocky  fdrm  among  the  hills,  she  was 
content  with  her  toilsome  lot,  and  thought  she  wanted  no 
other  treasure  than  she  possessed  in  her  husband  and  her  two 
children.  But  one  day  there  came  to  the  mountain  farm,  a 
stranger  with  a  book  and  a  hammer.  He  sauntered  about  for 
a  while  and  then  went  away.  The  next  day  he  returned  with 
two  others,  and  the  whole  party  seemed  bent  upon  prying 
into  every  nook  and  dingle,  and  examining  the  texture  of  all 
the  rocks,  at  which  Mr.  Morton  (Bessy's  husband)  had  so 
often  threatened  vengeance.  At  length  they  made  an  offer 
for  the  farm  so  greatly  above  its  seeming  value  that  the  saga- 
cious farmer  was  startled.  They  told  him  a  plausible  story, 
but  he  was  not  to  be  put  off  so  easily,  and,  at  length,  they 
were  obliged  to  let  him  into  the  secret,  and  admit  him  to  a 
share  in  the,  profits.  The  little  rocky  farm  covered  a  coal- 
mine of  untold  value,  and  Bessy  was  the  wife  of  a  rich 
man. 

They  removed  to  Harrisburg,  and  the  first  day  that  could 
be  devoted  to  that  purpose,  Bessy  set  out  for  Baltimore,  to 
claim  recognition  from  her  long-lost  pet.  Ida  had  heard  of 
her  good  fortune,  and  knew  she  was  coming ;  but  she  found  it 
difficult  to  see  in  the  richly-dressed  and  lady-liice  woman  who 
stood  before  her,  any  traces  of  the  trim  little  maiden  whom 
she  only  faintly  remembered.  But  Bessy  knew  enough  to 
support  her  new  position  with  dignity,  and  Ida  found  at  her 
house  always  a  cordial  welcome,  ana  in  its  hostess  a  devoted 
admirer  and  untiring  frieud. 


230  IDA     MAY. 

Mabe  had  left  scaool  a  short  time  before  her  uncle's  death, 
and  Ida,  who  was  two  years  younger,  was  to  remain  a  year 
longer.  But  when  she  could  arouse  herself  from  her  deep 
grief  at  that  unexpected  loss,  Ida  determined  to  remain  at 
school  until  she  was  eighteen,  which  was  the  time  fixed  for  her 
majority,  in  Mr.  Maynard's  will.  This  change  in  her  position 
involved  new  duties  and  responsibilities,  and  gave  her  a  new 
motive  for  acquiring  a  thorough  education.  Her  only  means 
of  support  was  the  property  which  that  will  secured  to  her. 
It  consisted  of  a  portion  of  the  estate  at  Oaklands  and  a 
number  of  negroes,  and  she  was  to  take  possession  when  she 
should  be  eighteen.  Until  then  Mr.  Wynn  was  to  be  her 
guardian.  The  value  of  this  property  was  sufficient  to  secure 
her  from  want  during  her  life  ;  but  Ida  looked  back  on  the 
five  years  she  had  passed  before  she  knew  Mr.  Maynard,  upon 
scenes  she  had  never  forgotten,  upon  conversations  which, 
dimly  understood  at  the  time,  came  back  with  clearness  of 
import  that  startled  her  as  she  recalled  them,  and  she  said 
to  herself,  "  Better  toil,  better  suffer,  if  need  be,"  than  by 
word  or  deed  to  countenance  in  any  way  the  system  whose 
blighting  curse  she  had  known  so  well.  Until  the  power  was 
in  her  own  hands,  she  could  only  keep  her  purpose  a  secret, 
and  prepare  herself  as  much  as  possible  for  its  fulfilment,  for 
she  knew  that  Mr.  "Wynn  would  defeat  it,  if  he  suspected 
i*  while  he  had  control  of  the  property. 

Mrs.  Wynn  and  Mabel  had  been  greatly  in  hopes  that 
Walter  would  return  home  some  months  previous  to  the  time 
when  it  would  be  necessary  for  Ida  to  visit  them,  in  order  to 


MAY.  231 


take  possession  of  her  estate  ;  but  the  young  gentleman  seemed 
to  be  in  no  haste  to  comply  with  their  wishes,  which,  to  be 
sure,  being  unexpressed,  he  might  be  pardoned  for  not  regard- 
ing. It  was  late  in  October,  and  they  had  returned  from  the 
mountain  retreat,  where  their  summers  were  now  spent, 
before  the  wanderer  was  welcomed  to  his  native  land. 

Tearful,  indeed,  was  that  welcome  at  first,  for  it  brought 
back  too  vividly  the  memory  of  one  whom  they  still  mourned  ; 
but  time  had  chastened  their  grief,  and  in  their  hearts  green 
grass  was  growing  over  the  grave  whereon  once  had  fallen 
only  the  cold,  wintry  rain  of  despairing  tears. 

Walter  Varian  was  ignorant  of  his  aunt's  purposes  respect- 
ing him  ;  but  if  he  had  known  them,  and  been  disposed  to  act 
the  good  boy,  he  could  not  have  obeyed  with  a  more  dutiful 
alacrity  ;  for,  almost  from  the  first  day  he  saw  Mabel,  he  had 
been  completely  fascinated  and  enthralled  by  her  beauty. 
The  fair  promise  of  her  childhood  had  been  more  than  ful- 
filled, and  she  was  now,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  most  radiantly 
and  peerlessly  beautiful.  Words  fail  to  describe  her  queenly 
form  and  mien,  the  perfect  contour  of  her  face  and  head,  her 
classic  features,  her  blue  eyes,  that  hid  themselves  beneath 
long,  dark  lashes  with  an  expression  of  dignified  repose,  the 
purity  and  brilliancy  of  her  complexion,  which  mocked  at  the 
commonplace  comparison  of  alabaster  or  Parian  marble,  the 
delicate  bloom  which  tinged  her  cheek  and  mantled  into 
brightness  on  her  curved  lips,  and  the  glossy  wealth  of  her 
Jght  brown  hair,  which  ehe  usually  wore  simply  knotted  in 
20* 


232  IDA     MA?. 

the  Grecian  sty  .e,  or  braided  and  disposed  like  a  crown  around 
her  stately  head. 

When,  in  his  day-dreams,  he  had  .contemplated  the  possi- 
bility that  he  might  one  day  be  married,  Walter  had  always 
imagined  that  he  should  require  not  only  personal  beauty,  but 
also  a  heart  and  a  mind,  in  the  woman  who  should  be  his 
wife.  But,  bewildered  and  dazzled,  he  had  not  stayed  to  con- 
sider of  this  now,  and  perhaps  it  was  but  natural  that,  when 
those  beautiful  lips  opened,  an  ardent  and  impressible  young 
man  should  mistake  the  pebbles  that  fell  from  them  for 
pearls. 

Walter  had  been  two  months  at  home,  and  he  was  already 
privately  betrothed  to  Mabel  Wynn,  and  had  only  waited  for 
her  father  to  return  from  a  journey,  which  had  detained  him 
some  weeks  from  home,  in  order  to  claim  publicly  the  fair 
hand  of  his  cousin,  and  to  beg  that  she  might  speedily  become 
his  wife.  Mrs.  Wynn  was  kept  too  much  in  awe  of  her  hus- 
band to  make  him  a  confidant  of  the  purpose  which  so  long 
had  agitated  her  gentle  breast  with  contending  hopes  and 
fears ;  but  she  had  no  idea  that  he  would  oppose  it,  and  great 
was  her  surprise  and  consternation,  when,  the  night  after  his 
return,  in  the  privacy  of  their  own  room,  she  told  him  of 
Walter's  wishes,  and  found  that  he  was  averse  to  the  union. 
Tha  proud  father  looked  higher  for  one  with  whom  to  mate 
his  peerless  child.  He  liked  Waiter  very  well,  but  Mabel's 
husband  must  be  far  more  wealthy  cr  far  more  influential  than 
her  cousin  was  likely  to  be,  at  least  before  many  years ;  and 
after  reiecting  innumerable  suitors,  in  obedience  to  his  com 


IDA     MAY.  JS33 

raanis,  it  would  ill  become  him,  he  said,  to  allow  her  to 
marry  Walter,  whose  whole  fortune  was  very  moderate,  and 
(vhose  talents  and  future  position  in  society  remained  to  be 
established.  In  addition  to  these  objections  he  urged  the  fact 
that  Col.  James  Ross,  whose  plantation  was  a  few  miles  dis- 
tant, a  widower  and  a  millionaire,  had  lately  been  fluttering 
round  Mabel,  like  a  moth  round  a  candle,  and  there  was  no 
ioubt  he  would  soon  propose  for  her. 

Mrs.  Wynn  cried  bitterly  with  disappointment,  and  even 
ventured  to  remonstrate,  which  so  astonished  her  husband 
that,  for  a  while,  he  could  hardly  answer  her ;  but  he  con- 
tinued inflexible,  and  the  only  concession  she  secured  was  a 
half  promise  that,  if  Col.  Ross  did  not  propose,  he  would  not 
forbid  Mabel's  union  with  her  cousin. 

The  next  morning,  without  betraying  all  that  had  passed, 
Mrs.  Wynn  convinced  Walter  that  he  had  better,  for  a  while, 
defer  asking  his  uncle's  permission  to  the  marriage,  and  thus 
the  parties  were  situated  when  Ida  arrived  at  the  hall.  She 
intended  to  have  been  there  earlier,  but  was  detained  by  the 
impassable  state  of  the  roads,  and  some  business  delays  on  the 
part  of  the  gentleman  under  whose  protection  she  travelled. 
She  found  the  household  in  a  bustle  of  preparation  for  the 
festivities  of  Christmas  eve,  but  she  was  received  with  great 
cordiality  by  Walter,  who  had  always  remembered  her  with 
deep  interest,  and  by  Mrs.  Wynn,  who,  now  that  the  chief 
fear  of  her  soul  was  removed,  felt  a  return  of  the  unselfish 
affection  she  had  first  entertained  for  the  orphan. 

In  the  excitement  of  her  arrival,  and  meeting  so  many  old 


234  IDA     MAT. 

friends, — above  all  in  again  meeting  Venus,  whom  she  had  not 
seen  for  two  years,  and  who  laughed  and  cried  over  her  by 
turns,  in  the  excess  of  her  joy,  —  in  the  preparations  going  on 
throughout  the  house  to  entertain  the  numerous  guests,  some 
of  whom  must  remain  all  night,  —  and  finally  in  dressing  for 
the  party,  there  had  been  no  opportunity  for  Ida  to  observe 
the  new  relation  in  which  Walter  stood  with  his  cousin.  But 
the  little  scene  I  have  described  had  revealed  to  her  the 
secret,  revealed  it  with  lightning  power,  that  for  a  moment 
left  her  stunned  and  blinded;  and  though,  by  the  habit  which 
is  like  a  natural  instinct  to  most  women,  she  walked  calmly 
into  the  drawing-room  with  her  companions,  and  listened 
while  Mabel  sang,  and  then  seated  herself  at  the  piano, 
choosing  mechanically  the  gayest  songs  and  the  most  noisy 
and  rapid  music,  there  was  going  on  all  the  while  within  her 
soul  one  of  those  unacted,  unwritten  dramas,  of  which  the 
world  would  be  delighted  to  be  spectators,  but  of  which  the 
world  is  usually  profoundly  ignorant. 

But  she  was  a  brave  girl,  and,  though  startled  and  disap- 
pointed, she  was  not  dismayed.  In  the  secret  chambers  of 
her  heart  the  death  sentence  was  read  over  hopes  of  whose 
existence  she  had  been  unaware  until  that  moment  revealed, 
them ;  there  was  a  self-reliant  lifting  up  of  her  head,  a  glanc- 
ing of  her  thought  heavenward,  and  Ida  was  strong  again, 
acd  calm  of  soul. 

That  night,  when  Mabel  and  she  retired  to  the  little  dress- 
ing-room, where  they  were  to  sleep  together,  having  given  up 
their  bed.  o  fcair  guest? ,  Mabel  came  behind  her  as  she  stood 


IDA     MAT.  2S& 

before  th.  a  irror  smoothing  out  her  curly  tresses,  and,  pass 
ing  her  arm  round  her  waist,  said,  —  fixing  her  eyes  the  wh.il  a 
on  the  face  in  the  glass  before  her,  in  order  to  perceive  any 
change  of  countenance,  — 

"  I  will  tell  you  a  great  secret,  Ida.  I  am  engaged  to  my 
cousin  Walter ! " 

"  I  thought  so,"  replied  Ida,  and  she  could  not  help  adding 
mischievously,  "  I  congratulate  you  on  your  success." 

Mabel  was  quite  taken  by  surprise,  and  a  little  annoyed 
at  this  playful  rejoinder.  She  had  always  fancied  that  Ida 
had  a  secret  fancy  for  Walter,  and  the  thought  of  triumphing 
over  her  had  been  a  powerful  stimulus  to  her  desire  to  num- 
ber Walter  among  her  own  suitors,  and  added  zest  to  the 
pleasure  with  which  she  received  his  addresses.  She  had 
hoped  to  see  confusion  and  pain  in  the  face  of  one  she  deemed 
her  rival,  when  the  fact  was  known,  and  therefore  had  chosen 
a  moment  when  the  lights  were  so  placed  that  every  emotion 
could  be  detected. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  half  angrily. 

"  0,"  said  Ida,  already  repenting  of  her  words,  "  they  say 
matrimony  is  a  game  at  which  we  women  play,  and  some 
win  the  prize,  as  you  have  done.  You  have  been  successful, 
I  congratulate  you." 

"  And  you  have  lost !  "  returned  Mabel,  half  maliciously, 
for  she  suspected  a  la'.ort  sarcasm  in  her  companion's  first 
remark. 

Ida  laughed  merrily. 

"  That  cannot  be,  for  I  did  not  enter  the  lists,"  she  said 


236  IDA     MAT. 

and  then  adcbd  n.ore  gravely,  "  now  let  us  be  eober.  1 
deserve  to  have  my  nonsense  recoil  on  my  own  head,  for  1 
should  not  have  answered  you  thus.  The  love  of  "Walter 
Varian  is  not  a  thing  to  laugh  about.  If  you  have  the  hap- 
piness of  his.  life  in  your  hands,  you  have  a  high  and  precious 
trust,  and  I  think  you  must  feel  the  responsibility,  Mabel." 

"Mercy!  don't  go  into  heroics,  I  beg!"  cried  Mabel. 
4 1  'm  not  going  to  trouble  myself  about  his  happiness,  I 
assure  you.  I  shall  expect  him  to  make  it  his  business  to 
look  after  mine." 

".And  does  he  agree  to  this  one-sided  bargain  ?  "  said  Ida, 
who  knew  that  her  companion  was  not  jesting,  but  simply 
expressing  the  feelings  of  her  heart. 

"  0,  he  'd  agree  to  anything  I  proposed.  I  never  saw 
anybody  more  in  love  than  he  is  with  your  humble  servant, — 
he  is  completely  blinded,  —  it  is  really  funny.  Don't  you 
remember  how  much  he  used  to  think  of  you  —  how  handsome 
he  thought  you  was  ?  Well,  his  head  is  so  completely  turned 
now,  that  he  actually  thinks  you  have  grown  homely." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  —  poor,  infatuated  youth  !  "  exclaimed 
Ida. 

"  It  is  so,"  repeated  Mabel,  provoked  that  she  could  not 
annoy  Ida.  "He  told  me,  to-night,  that  he  never  saw  any- 
body whose  face  so  much  disappointed  him,  he  expected  you 
would  be  so  pretty  " 

Ida  looked  on  the  reflection  in  the  mirror  before  them. 
She  was  not  so  beautiful  in  her  womanhood  as  she  had  been 
when  a  child.  Her  figure  was  slight,  and  rather  under  th« 


IDA     MAY.  237 

medium  height,  and  her  face,  now  more  than  usually  pale  and 
sallow  from  the  effects  of  a  recent  illness,  could  bear  no  com- 
parison with  the  perfect  and  radiant  beauty  of  Mabel's.  Ida 
saw  it,  and  she  was  conscious  of  a  faint  feeling  of  mortifica- 
tion that  Walter  should  have  made  the  comparison  so  much 
to  her  disadvantage,  and  have  remarked  upon  it  to  one  who 
never  had  neglected  any  opportunity  to  gall  and  wound  her, 
But  the  next  instant  she  put  down  the  emotion  proudly,  and 
replied  in  the  same  playful  tone  she  had  hitherto  maintained. 

"  Everything  is  by  comparison,  and  Walter  was  very  unfair 
to  expect  me  to  devote  my  whole  time  to  the  business  of 
growing  handsome,  as  you  have  done.  Even  for  the  sake  of 
pleasing  him,  it  would  hardly  have  been  worth  while  to  sacri- 
fice everything  else,  and  spend  these  last  five  years  a  la  grand. 
Lama,  in  reflecting  upon  and  worshipping  myself.  He  should 
not  have  compared  me  with  you,  and  you  may  tell  him  so 
when  he  is  inclined  to  do  so  again." 

'  He  did  n't  compare  us ;  he  said  there  was  no  comparison," 
said  Mabel,  bluntly. 

"  I  honor  his  discrimination,"  replied  Ida.  '  When  he 
becomes  still  further  acquainted  with  us,  I  suppose  he  will 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  no  riore  comparison  be- 
tween the  inside  than  there  is  between  the  outside  of  our 
heads." 

"  And  what  there  is  will  be  all  in  my  favor,  if  he  is  judge, 
you  may  be  sure,"  replied  Mabel,  turning  away  with  a  faint 
blush  and  an  air  of  vexation.  "  But,  come  now,  let  us  stop 
this  nonsense  and  go  to  sleep.  You  are  so  uncommonly  bright 


238  IDA     MAY. 

to-night,  that  I  find  1  shall  gain  nothing  in  a  war  of  words. 
Suppose  we  rest  our  weapons  till  to-morrow." 

"  Suppose  we  conclude  a  treaty  of  peace  for  all  coming 
time.  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you,  Mabel  dear,"  said  Ida. 
following  her,  "  but  I  felt  a  little  mischievous.  I  do  sincerely 
congratulate  you.' 

"  Perhaps  you  think  1  am  the  only  party  who  is  to  be 
congratulated  in  this  unbn,"  replied  Mabel,  petulantly. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  rejoined  Ida,  with  an  arch  glance  into 
Mabel's  eyes,  as  she  kissed  her  fair  cheek  ;  and  thus  the  con- 
versation ended,  leaving  Mabel  uncertain,  as  her  companion 
meant  she  should  be,  whether  her  intended  triumph  had  not 
after  all  been  a  mistake  arising  from  her  own  misconception 
of  Ida's  feelings. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

*  When  shall  I  breathe  in  freedom,  and  give  scope 
To  those  untamable  and  burning  thoughts, 
And  restless  aspirations,  which  consume 
My  heart  in  the  land  of  bondage  1 " 

VESPERS  OF  PALERMO 

THE  next  morning,  while  the  servants  were  yet  engaged  iii 
the  early  sweeping,  and  general  "putting  to  rights,"  which 
followed  the  Christmas  party,  Venus,  who  was  making  her- 
self useful  with  a  broom,  was  surprised  to  see  Ida  descending 
the  stairs. 

"  A  merry  Christmas,  mauma ! "  she  said,  "  and  here  is  your 
Christmas  present.  Is  n't  it  handsome  ?  "  and  she  unfolded  a 
warm,  soft,  woollen  shawl,  woven  of  the  bright  colors  which 
Venus  most  affected,  and  playfully  threw  it  over  her  head. 

"  Bress  de  honey ! "  exclaimed  she,  extricating  herself 
from  its  folds,  and  surveying  it  with  admiring  eyes;  "  how  she 
do  allers  'member  her  ole  mauma,  and  know  what  she  want 
most  uncommon!  Dis  yer  shawl  now  dctfhansiim,  'pears  like 
I  'se  gwine  look  powerful  pretty  in  it.  Bress  de  child  !  she 
done  got  up  mighty  airly  and  Iress  herself.  It  be  merry 
21 


240  IDA     MAT. 


Christmas  sure  'nuff  for  ole  Benus,  when  she  get  her  young 
miss'  dis  bright  mornin'.  How  d'  ye,  honey  ? " 

"  0,  I  'm  well,  and  quite  rested  after  my  journey,"  said 
Ida,  as  she  threw  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  her  old  friend, 
and  kissed  her  heartily.  That  dark  face,  with  all  its  un- 
couthness,  was  always  pleasant  to  her. 

"  'Pears  like  I  neber  see  you  'gain,  honey,"  said  Venus. 
"  Dis  old  heart  done  long  for  you  dis  heap  o'  days.  What 
for  made  her  stay  'way  from  home  so  long  ?  " 

"  No  matter  now,  mauma,"  replied  Ida,  "  we  won't  be  sepa- 
rated again.  You  shall  always  live  with  me  if  you  want  to, 
and  go  with  me  wherever  I  go.'* 

"  Dat  ar'  good  news,  dat  am  up  and  down  fact,"  replied 
Venus,  in  a  tone  of  great  complacency.  "  But  run  'long  now, 
honey,  for  dat  ar'  Patra  she  dono'  no  more  'bout  sweeping 
dan  tree-toad  know  'bout  singing,  and  she  do  make  such  pow- 
erful dust  you  'se  getting  all  covered.  De  nigger  !  she  a'n't 
neber  been  edicated  'bout  sweepin',  dat  gal  a'n't.  Now,  when 
I  sweeps,  'pears  like  you  neber  'd  know  it.  De  a'n't  one 
speck  o'  dust.  But  some  folks  is  dat  stupid." 

This  latter  sentence  was  lost  to  Ida,  for  she  had  retreated 
from  the  clouds  which  "  cast  their  shadows  before  "  Patra's 
vigoreasly-handled  broom,  as  she  approached  the  parlor  door. 
Stepping  out  on  the  piazza,  she  stopped  a  moment  to  cares? 
the  dog,  who  had  stretched  himself  there  on  a  mat.  Sport 
had  grown  old  and  feeble,  but  he  did  not  forgot  old  friends, 
and,  after  rubbing  his  nose  most  expressively  in  reply  to  her 


IDA     MAY.  2ll 

affectionate  greeting,  he  even  aroused  himself  to  the  unwonted 
exertion  of  following  her,  as  she  went  towards  the  garden. 

Ida  had  never  forgotten  her  early  passion  for  flowers,  and 
now  she  sauntered  along  the  well-known  walks,  stopping  now 
and  then  to  speak  to  the  gardeners,  or  to  gather  some  buds 
and  blossoms,  that  were  lifting  themselves  up  to  the  sunshine 
as  joyously  as  if  most  of  their  companions  had  not  perished 
beneath  the  chilly  touch  of  approaching  winter.  She  seated 
herself,  at  length,  in  a  sunny  spot,  beneath  the  hedge  of  wild 
orange  that  surrounded  the  garden,  while  Sport  stretched 
himself  at  her  feet,  and,  after  shaking  his  ears  over  his  face 
as  though  under  pretence  that  the  sun  hurt  his  eyes,  but 
really  because  he  was  a  little  ashamed  to  have  his  ultimate 
intentions  known,  gave  himself  up  to  a  gentle  doze.  Ida 
watched  the  dignified  old  dog  with  a  quiet  smile,  and  her 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  first  time  she  had  seen  him,  to  her 
hiding-place  among  the  trees,  and  to  the  brave  and  handsome 
boy  who  had  then  appeared  to  her  braver  and  handsomer 
than  aught  of  mortal  mould.  She  thought  of  the  kind  friend 
who  had  adopted  her  when  she  was  a  forlorr  orphan,  and 
whose  care  and  love  had  never  failed  her,  until  death  had 
torn  him  from  her  forever ;  —  thought  of  him  with  a  tender 
longing,  and  not  a  few  quiet  tears,  that  fell  like  dew-drops 
upon  the  roses  she  was  twining  together ;  for,  since  last  even- 
ing, she  had  felt  that  Walter  'was  entirely  lost  to  her. 
Mabel's  husband  could  not  even  be  her  friend ;  and  with 
Walter,  her  last  hold  on  the  family  of  her  protector  seemed 
gone. 


242  DA     MAY. 

From  this  revery  shj  was  aroused  by  the  sound  *.!'  voices 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  and,  loosing  through  a  small 
opening  beside  her,  she  saw  that  ner.r  the  angle  of  the  hedge 
where  she  sat,  was  the  gate  of  the  fruit  garden,  which  was 
immediately  behind  the  other.  At  this  gate  a  man  and  a 
woman  were  standing.  The  man  had  his  back  toward  her, 
and  seemed  to  hare  just  opened  the  gate  that  his  companion 
might  pass  outt  She  had  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  was 
looking  up  in  his  face  with  an  eager,  imploring  expression 
She  was  evidently  quite  young,  and  was  very  pretty,  with 
soft,  sad  eyes,  and  a  timid  air  that  suited  her  girlish  figure. 
"  You  will  be  sure  to  come  once,  at  least,"  Ida  heard  her  say, 
in  tremulous  accents. 

"Yes,"  replied  her  companion,  in  low  but  firm  tones,  "I 
will  certainly  come,  though  when  I  can't  tell  you.  He 
watches  me  like  a  cat  does  a  mouse  ;  and  even  now,  when  all 
the  rest  are  at  liberty  for  a  week,  he  has  given  me  somo 
plans  for  a  summer-house  to  draw,  and  has  told  me  to  draw 
on  them  every  morning  in  the  library,  so  that  he  may  be  sure 
I  am  not  with  you,  —  curse  him  !  " 

The  woman  looked  down  a  moment,  and  her  lip  trembled. 
"  It  is  too  bad ! "  she  said  ;  "  and  now  the  baby  is  growing  so 
pretty  and  cunning  —  I  've  learnt  him  to  say  a  mighty  heap 
of  words  since  you  was  there." 

"  It  won't  last  much  longer,"  said  the  man ;  "  even  the 
worm  turns  when  he  is  trodden  upon.  I  am  no  wcrm,  but  I 

will  turn,  too." 

»k 

"  It  is  all  because  I  am  free,  you  say,"  replied  tl  e  woman. 


IDA     MA*  243 

O,  how  often  i  have  been  tempted  to  sell  myself  for  a  ser- 
vant, that  we  might  live  together  in  peace  as  the  other  ser- 
vants do ! " 

"  Don't  say  that,  Elsie,"  said  her  companion,  in  a  more 
cheerful  tone.  "  The  only  thing  that  has  kept  me  up  at  all 
has  been  the  thought  that  you  was  out  of  his  power,  and  that 
our  boy  was  free.  0  no,  Elsie  dear,  there  's  an  easier  way 
than  that  to  set  things  straight." 

The  woman  gave  a  slight  shudder,  and  said,  mournfully, 
"  May  be  so,  but  I  have  n't  been  able  to  sleep  nights  foi 
thinking,  what  if  you  should  get  lost  in  the  woods,  and  starve 
to  death,  or  get  bitten  by  rattle-snakes,  or  drowned  in  some 
of  those  dreadful  swamps,  or  torn  to  pieces  by  dogs  when 
they  are  hunting  for  you."  She  grew  deadly  pale,  and 
dropped  her  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  as  she  uttered  these 
last  words. 

^  "Don't  be  afraid  of  that  —  that  last"  replied  the  man. 
"  Listen,  Elsie  ;  I  have  a  pistol.  I  will  never  be  taken  alive. 
I  will  never  be  torn  by  dogs.  I  will  die  like  a  man,  —  like 
&  free  man." 

"  That 's  what  you  've  often  told  me.  That 's  what  I  'm 
afraid  of,  that  some  way  you  will  be  killed,  and  I  shall  never 
see  you  again.  Awake  or  asleep,  it 's  never  been  out  of  my 
mind  a  minute  for  a  week,  and  at  last  I  got  so  frightened  I 
had  to  come  all  the  way  here,  for  fear  you  might  have  gone 
without  saying  good-by,  though  you  promised  me  you 
would  n't.  0,  Alfred,  drn't  go  !  " 

She  tl  r  jw  herself  ink  his  anus,  as  she  spoke,  with  a  wild 

21* 


244  i  r  A   MAY. 

burst  of  tears.  He  clasped  her  to  his  bosom,  tightly  convul 
sively,  and  his  whole  frame  heaved  and  trembled ;  but,  after 
a  few  moments,  he  mastered  his  emotion,  and  said,  sadly  but 
firmly, 

"  Don't  say  that  again,  Elsie.  You  know  how  long  1 
have  waited,  because  I  could  not  bear  to  leave  you.  Tt 
almost  kills  me  to  see  you  crying,  —  don't,  dear." 

She  made  a  strong  effort  to  control  herself,  and  lay  quite 
still  on  his  breast,  as  he  went  on,  more  cheerfully,  but  always 
in  a  tone  so  low  that  Ida  could  not  have  heard,  only  that  she 
was  close  beside  them,  though  unseen. 

"  You  need  not  distress  yourself  with  these  fears,"  he  said. 
"  A  body  would  n't  think  you  had  courage  to  walk  all  night 
atone  through  the  woods  to  come  here  and  see  me,  if  they 
saw  how  you  tremble  at  the  idea  of  my  travelling  alone  in 
. .  die  woods.  I  shan't  be  in  any  danger  of  losing  my  way,  for  I 
have  a  compass ;  and,  as  for  being  hunted  with  dogs,  a  good 
horse  will  take  me  out  of  their  reach  in  one  night,  and  it  will 
go  hard  if  somebody  don't  miss  a  horse  the  morning  I  'm 
missing ;  —  he  owes  me  more  than  the  worth  of  a  horse,  for 
all  the  years  I  've  worked  for  him.  No,  Elsie,  I  must  go 
now ;  it 's  been  getting  worse  and  worse  for  the  last  year, 
and  I  can't  bear  it  any  longer.  I  want  to  own  myself;  I 
want  to  be  where  I  can  live  with  you  in  freedom,  and  edu- 
cate my  children ;  —  they  say  colored  people  can  do  all  that  in 
ths  Northern  States.  0,  Elsie,  it  is  hard  for  you  now,  but 
wo  shall  be  so  happy  by  and  by  I  shall  find  ways  of  letting 


IDA    MAY.  245 

you  k£ow  where  I  am,  air1   then  you  can  come  to  mo  with 
our  boy." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  with  you,"  said  Elsie,  plaintively.  ''•  I 
feel  as  if  I  should  never  be  able  to  find  you  when  you  ge*  so 
tar  off,  even  if  you  live  to  get  there." 

"  It  would  n't  do,  any  way,"  replied  Alfred,  shaking  hi? 
head  with  a  sad  smile.  "  It  would  lessen  the  chances  of  m,y 
escape  ;  and  then,  though  I  don't  rnind  being  tired,  and  torn, 
and  wet,  and  hungry,  myself,  I  could  n't  bear  to  see  yon 
enduring  all  that,  and  I  know  the  boy  could  n't  live  througS 
it.  But  we  must  n't  talk  here  any  longer,  Elsie.  I  shall  b* 
missed,  and  you  may  be  seen.  It  was  a  little  imprudent  fo 
you  to  come  at  all,  for  I  have  no  doubt  he  would  get  yon 
taken  up  for  stealing,  as  he  did  before,  if  he  should  catch  yo  * 
about  here." 

"  I  could  n't  help  coming,"  said  Elsie,  submissively.  "  > 
felt  as  if  I  must  see  you,  or  I  should  certainly  die." 

"  Poor  dear  !  "  said  Alfred,  with  a  fond  caress.  "  I  'IK 
glad  you  came,  for  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  never  get  awaf 
again  long  enough  to  go  to  you." 

There  was  a  long,  silent  embrace,  and  then  Elsie  turned 
away,  turned  back  again,  and,  throwing  herself  into  his  arms, 
exclaimed,  "  Remember,  you  've  promised  me  you  won't  go 
without  saying  good-by,  —  you  will  come  and  see  me  once 
more." 

"  Yes,  I  will  certainly  come,"  replied  Alfred ;  and  then, 
with  lingering  steps,  often  turning  and  looking  back,  she 
went  away. 


246  IDA     MAY. 

Ida  had  listened  to  this  conversation,  at  first,  involuntarily 
and  then  with  an  undefined  alarm  and  astonishment.  When 
she  found  she  was  becoming  possessed  of  what  might  be  a 
troublesome  and  de-ucate  secret,  her  first  inclination  was  to 
glide  silently  away  ;  but  a  second  thought  determined  her  to 
keep  watch  lest  the  servants  at  the  other  end  of  the  garden 
should  come  too  near,  or  some  ear,  less  friendly  than  her  own, 
should  overhear  them.  She  knew  nothing  of  their  circum 
stances,  but  she  could  not  help  sympathizing  with  their  feel 
ings.  She  had  not  seen  Alfred  at  her  last  visit  at  the  hall, 
and  now,  when,  as  he  stood  gazing  .after  his  wife,  he  turned 
his  face  towards  her,  she  was  surprised  to  see  how  he  was 
changed  from  the  animated,  happy-looking  boy,  she  remem 
bered  so  well.  He  stood  a  long  time  at  the  gate,  after  Elsie's 
elight  form  had  disappeared  among  the  pines,  with  his  arms 
folded,  and  his  face  set  with  a  stern  and  gloomy  expression. 
Chen  a  deep,  deep  groan  broke  from  his  lips. 

"  Poor  Elsie  !  poor  little  Elsie  !  "  he  murmured,  as  slowly 
he  took  his  way  towards  the  house ;  and  then  Ida  also  left 
her  seat,  and,  with  loitering  thoughtful  pace,  retraced  her 
steps. 

As  she  reached  the  garden  gate,  she  met  Walter,  who  was 
surprised  to  find  her  abroad  so  early. 

"  They  must  have  accustomed  you  to  very  singular  and 
primitive  habits,  up  there  in  the  northland,  where  you  have 
been  sojourning  so  long,"  said  he,  when  the  usual  Christmas 
greeting  had  passed  between  them;  "and  I  see  yon  have  oven 
enticed  Sport  into  the  same  practices." 


IDA    Mil.  247 

"  .'eg,  rejlied  Ida.  "Sport  and  I  were  always  good 
friends,  and  I  was  glad  to  find  that  he  had  not  forgotten  me. 
ML  my  old  friends  are  not  here  to  greet  me,"  she  added, 
mournfully. 

•'  No,"  replied  Walter,  who  understood  this  allusion  to  his 
uncle ;  "  and  I  don't  wonder  you  miss  him  who  is  gone. 
The  house  seemed  so  strange  to  me  without  him,  wlien  I 
first  came  home,  that  I  hardly  knew  what  to  do  with 
myself." 

"  He  was  such  a  kind  friend,  such  a  generous  protector  !  " 
said  Ida,  with  much  emotion.  "  I  was  doubly  orphaned,  and 
the  world  looked  dark,  indeed,  when  he  died." 

Walter  did  not  reply.  Any  allusion  to  his  uncle  touched 
his  tenderest  feelings,  and  her  emotion  affected  him. 

"  These  calm,  bright  mornings  always  remind  me  of  Uncle 
Charles,"  said  he,  at  length.  "  He  loved  the  sunshine,  and 
there  was  a  sunny,  genial  warmth,  about  all  his  moods  of  feel- 
ing, that  seemed  the  reflection  of  everything  calmly  bright  in 
the  outward  world.  The  last  words  he  spoke  were  to  ask  me 
to  open  the  shutters  that  he  might  see  the  sun  rise,  and  then, 
turning  towards  it,  he  prayed.  The  light  from  a  brighter 
world  broke  over  him  then." 

There  was  another  pause,  and  then,  taking  the  flowers  she 
had  been  gathering,  Walter  said,  in  a  more  cheerful  tone, 

"You  are  true  to  your  old  loves,  I  see, — flowers,  flowera 
always,  where  you  are.  They  have  often  reminded  me  of 
you  during  these  years  when  I  have  not  seen  you.  I  shall 
never  forget  how  like  a  wood-nymph,  or  fairy,  you  looked  the 


iJ48  IDA    MAT. 

first  time  1  ever  saw  you,  peeping  out  from  behind  the  kal 
mias ;  do  you  remember  it  ?  " 

"  0,  yes,"  replied  Ida,  "  I  remember  it  very  distinctly,  and 
your  tricks  with  Sport,  and  his  fall  into  the  water  ;  I  thought 
it  was  so  funny  then." 

Walter  laughed,  and,  stooping  down,  he  pulled  the  dog's 
ears,  saying,  "  "We  don't  frolic  so  now,  Sport,  do  we  ?  We  ?ve 
grown  older  and  wiser  and  more  dignified  now ;  have  n't  we, 
old  dog  ?  You  were  always  dignified.  0,  yes,  I  dare  say  ! 
But  you  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  I  was  n't,  do  you  ?  0, 
Sport,  don't  grow  slanderous  in  your  old  age !  " 

"  Sport  scorns  the  accusation,  and  thinks  it  unworthy  of 
reply,"  said  Ida,  as  the  dog  bounded  suddenly  through  th< 
open  gate,  near  which  they  were  standing. 

"  Recurring  to  his  old  adventure  reminds  him  of  water," 
replied  Walter;  "he  seems  to  be  going  towards  the  well. 
What  is  the  matter  there,  I  wonder  ?  Old  Aunt  Judy  seems 
to  be  scolding  at  the  top  of  her  voice." 

The  well  was  near  the  kitchen,  and,  as  they  approached  it, 
a  savory  odor  of  baking  and  stewing,  coming  from  the  Open 
window,  told  that  breakfast  was  in  active  preparation.  Over 
the  fire,  one  or  two  servants  were  engaged  in  culinary  oper- 
ations, while  in  the  yard,  Aunt  Judy,  with  her  head  envel- 
oped in  a  red  turban,  was  fretting  and  fuming  like  an  enraged 
turkey-cock. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  Walter  repeated,  as  he  came  near 
'What  ails  Aunt  Judy?  A  merry  Christmas  to  you 
aunty !  " 


1  1)  A      M  A  Y  249 

The  little,  short,  fat  woman  turned  ner  head  &a  she  heard 
his  pleasant  voice,  but  her  face  did  not  relax  a  muscle. 

"  'T  a'n't  merry  Christmas,"  she  answered;  "  here  de  folks 
'most  ready  hab  breakfast  toted  in,  and  a'n't  a  drop  o'  water 
loft  for  boil  eggs,  and  de  bucket  a'n't  nowhar,  an'  all  dese 
yer  lazy  niggers  say  dey  can't  fin'  it.  De  lazy  creters,  dey  's 
allers  circumlogin'  roun'  when  nobody  don't  wan't  'em,  —  why 
don't  'y  come  find  de  bucket  ?  " 

"  The  bucket  is  probably  down  in  the  well,  for  I  see  the 
chain  is  broken,"  said  "Walter,  taking  hold  of  it.  "  There 
is  old  Bill  Gray  cutting  wood,  —  make  him  go  down  and  get 
it." 

"  I  done  axed  him  heap  o'  time,  but  he  won't  do  nothin'  for 
me,  —  de  cantankerous  ole  nigger!  "  said  Judy,  shaking  her 
fist  wrathfully  at  an  old  fellow  who  was  at  work  at  a  little 
distance,  and  whose  gray  wool,  sticking  out  in  all  directions, 
and  a  white  bristling  beard" that  nearly  covered  his  face,  had 
obtained  for  him  the  soubriquet  of  Bill  Gray. 

"  I  reckon  he  '11  go  down  if  I  ask  him,  though,"  said  Wal- 
ter, laughing  at  the  odd  faces  she  made  in  her  indignation. 
"Here,  Bill  Gray  !  Ho  !  Uncle  Bill !  come  here,  I  want  you 
to  go  down  the  well  and  see  if  the  bucket  is  there ;  Aunt  Judy 
can't  find  it  anywhere  else." 

The  negro  prepared  to  obey,  with  sundry  angry  gestures 
towards  Judy,  and  muttering  all  the  while  to  himself.  "  Put 
eberyting  on  ole  nigger  now ;  tink  ole  Bill  do  eberyting.  Ole 
Bill  a'n't  young  nigger  no  more  ;  he  got  rheumatiz  in  e^ery 
->ne  he  joints  Ole  Bill  can't  go  down  de  well  all  time,  find 


250  IDA     MAY. 

bucket.  Ole  Judy  want  drawn  dis  nigger,  she  do.  Mas.* 
Walter  no  hold  rope,  let  he  down,  all  'lone." 

"  Don't  you  be  afraid,"  said  Walter.  "  For  our  own  sakes 
we  should  n't  care  about  dipping  you  in  the  water.  You  don't 
look  as  if  you  would  improve  the  taste  of  it  much,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile,  as  he  surveyed  the  soiled  and  tattered  clothes  of 
the  negro. 

After  some  delay  the  rope  was  adjusted,  and  Walter  held 
it  with  the  help  of  some  young  boys,  who,  by  this  time,  had 
clustered  around.  They  were  inclined  to  make  a  joke  of  the 
matter,  and  Ida  was  greatly  amused,  as  she  stood  looking  on, 
to  see  them  rolling  up  their  eyes,  and  making  all  sorts  of 
faces,  as  they  swayed  themselves  backward,  pulling  on  the 
rope,  and  shouting,  "  Nigger  down  de  well !  nigger  down  de 
well !  " 

In  a  few  moments  after  Bill's  gray  head  disappeared  dowt 
the  narrow  opening,  his  voice  was  heard  calling  out,  "  Dat 
'nuff,  —  hole  on  now,  —  1  see  him,  —  he  down  here, — pull 
up  now  ! " 

In  obedience  to  this  request,  they  began  drawing  up,  and 
slowly  old  Bill  emerged  from  the  well. 

"  Where  is  the  bucket  ?  a'n't  it  down  there  ?  you  said  you 
?aw  it,"  cried  half  a  dozen  voices,  as  he  climbed  over  the  curb 
and  stood  irefore  them  empty-handed. 

"  Yes,  he  down  dere ;  me  see  him,"  replied  Bill,  wif.h  an 
»ir  of  stupid  composure. 

"Why  didn't  you  bring  it  up,  den,  you  cantankerous  ole 
fool  ? "  cried  Judy.  "  Here  de  breakfast  time  mos'  come,  and 


IDA     MAY.  251 

de  water  for  boil  de  eggs  lown  in  de  bottom  de  well,  and  no 
bucket  to  tote  it  up  wid. ' 

"  Mass'  Walter  no  tell  me  bring  he  up,  —  say,  see  ke  down 
dere"  replied  the  negro,  looking  round  with  an  expressicm  of 
injured  innocence. 

Walter  could  not  help  laughing  heartily  at  this  ridiculous 
blunder,  in  which,  however,  he  suspected  a  spice  of  malice, 
and  he  was  about  ordering  the  old  fellow  down  again,  when 
suddenly  Alfred  came  up  from  the  fruit  garden.  As  he  sav 
the  group  around  the  well,  he  paused  in  his  rapid  walk, 
and  came  towards  them. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  he ;  "  the  bucket  down  there  ?  0, 
yes,  I  remember,  I  broke  the  chain  myself,  and  then  some- 
body called  me  away,  and  I  forgot  about  it.  I  '11  get  it  in  a 
minute ;  "  and,  as  he  spoke  the  last  words,  he  sprang  down  the 
slippery  stones,  disdaining  the  aid  of  a  rope,  seized  the  lost 
bucket,  and,  reappearing  above  ground,  gave  it  to  Judy,  and 
walked  hastily  away. 

Something  in  his  manner  arrested  Walter's  attention,  and 
made  Ida's  heart  throb  quickly.  His  face  was  clouded,  and 
no  smile  relaxed  its  gravity,  though  all  around  were  laughing 
at  Bill  Gray.  He  seemed  to  perform  the  deed  mechanically, 
as  if  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere,  and  he  had  not  the 
deferential  glance  and  smile  with  which  the  servants,  even  in 
their  most  hurried  moments,  acknowledge  the  presence  of 
their  masters. 

Walter  looked  after  him  a  moment,  and  then  followed  Ida. 
8he  had  retreated  to  the  piazza,  and  wag  now  relating  to  some 

t       OO 


<2  IDA     MAT 

of  their  guosts,  who  had  joined  her  there,   old  Uncle  Bill's 
am  ising  misconception  of  Walter's  command 

Ida  told  a  story  well.  When  she  was  amused  or  excited, 
the  most  beautiful  color  flushed  her  cheeks,  usually  so  pale, 
and  her  clear  dark  eyes  flashed  and  sparkled.  She  had  one 
of  those  faces  whose  chief  attraction  consists  in  their  power 
of  expression.  At  times  she  might  have  seemed  to  a  casual 
observer  simply  as  a  delicate-looking  girl,  with  an  intellectual 
expression  and  a  finely-formed  head ;  but  once  let  that  face 
become  animated,  and  it  arrested  the  eye,  and  stamped  itself 
on  the  memory ;  when  many  others,  more  perfect  in  regular- 
ity of  feature,  or  purity  of  complexion,  had  faded  and  been 
forgotten. 

Now,  as  Walter  looked  at  her,  animated  as  she  was  by  the 
conversation,  and  glowing  with  the  bloom  she  had  caught 
from  the  fresh  morning  air,  he  was  surprised  at  his  own  blind- 
ness in  having  been  disappointed  in  her  appearance,  when, 
after  so  long  an  absence,  he  had  first  met  her  the  day  before. 
He  looked  from  her  to  Mabel.  There  was  no  comparison 
between  the  two,  in  regard  to  feature  or  complexion,  but  there 
was  something,  —  some  intangible  expression  of  beauty  about 
Ida's  face,  —  that  Mabel's  seemed  to  need,  and  while  he  was 
trying  to  think  what  it  was,  the  bell  rang,  and  they  all  went 
in  to  breakfast. 

The  whole  family,  with  their  guests,  were  driven  to  church 
in  carriages.  It  was  a  neat  little  church,  tastefully  trimmed 
with  oak  wreaths,  intermingled  with  the  pearl-like  berries  of 
the  mistletoe,  and  the  holly,  with  its  thoTny  leaves  and  shining 


IDA     MAY.  12'OQ 

fruit,  red  as  coral.     But,  as  they  entei  sd  the  door,  Ida  saw 

_ 
Maum  Abby,  who  had  come  with  them,  kneeling  apart  in 

one  corner,  and  she  noticed  that,  instead  of  the  usual  simple 
invocation,  she  was  praying  and  weeping  bitterly ;  as  if,  now 
she  was  in  the  house  of  God,  she  were  hastening  to  throw  off 
the  weight  of  some  secret  grief,  at  the  feet  of  the  merciful  One 
who  has  bidden  the  weary  and  heavy  laden  to  come  to  him 
and  find  rest.  The  sight  recalled  to  Ida  Alfred's  pale,  sad 
face,  and  the  scene  she  had  witnessed  in  the  morning,  and, 
plunged  in  serious  and  perplexing  thoughts,  she  hardly 
noticed  the  whisperings  of  her  merry  companions,  or  the  kind 
greetings  all  around  her;  and  it  was  not  till  there  was  a  sud- 
den hush  in  the  assembly,  and  the  sublime  words  of  the  ser- 
vice fell  upon  her  ear,  that  she  was  reminded  of  the  pre- 
occupied manner  in  which  she  was  listening  to  solemn  wor- 
ship. 

Immediately  after  dinner  their  guests  departed,  and  then, 
as  they  drew  their  chairs  around  the  fire,  in  the  deepening 
twilight,  Ida  said  to  Mabel,  "  What  has  Alfred  been  doing 
with  himself  all  these  long  years  that  I  have  been  at  the 
north  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  the  same  question,"  said  Walter.  "  I 
have  noticed  he  has  entirely  lost  the  polite  manners  and 
blight,  happy  look,  for  which  he  was  distinguished  wheu 
a  bey.  I  remember  I  liked  him  better  than  anybody  about 
the  house ;  but  he  won't  talk  to  me  at  all  now." 

"  0,  we  have  had  a  heap  of  trouble  with  Alfred,"  replied 
Mabel,  "  and  I  call  it  too  bad  in  him,  and  a  downright 


254  IDA     MAT. 


:.h 


ame  in  his  mother,  Maum  Abby,  to  encourage  him  in 
it  as  she  does,  after  all  ma'  has  always  done  for  them 
both." 

"  What  has  he  done  ?  "  asked  Ida. 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  he  wanted  to  marry  a  free  girl, 
named  Elsie,  one  of  a  miserable  family  of  free  niggers  that 
lived  a  mile  from  here.  It  was  a  most  obstinate  fancy  of  his, 
for  he  knew  from  the  first  that  papa  is  decided  against  having 
any  of  his  servants  mingle  with  the  free  negroes  in  any  way  .; 
and  he  never  allows  one  of  them  on  his  premises  if  he  can  help 
it.  Then,  when  he  asked  leave  to  marry  her,  of  course,  papa 
was  angry  at  his  impudence  in  thinking  of  such  a  thing,  and 
told  him  so." 

"  He  did  n't  allow  it,  then,"  said  Ida. 

'  No,  indeed ;  of  course  not ;  but  Alfred  was  angry  about 
it,  and  so  was  his  mother.  She  talked  to  ma'  about  it,  till  she 
almost  made  her  think  it  was  unreasonable,  though  papa  had 
explained  to  her  that  he  was  conscientious  in  the  matter.  At 
length  there  was  so  much  trouble  about  it,  that  papa  found  he 
must  take  some  stern  measures,  for  Alfred  kept  going  there 
slyly ;  and  one  night,  when  the  girl  had  come  here  secretly,  as 
she  thought,  to  see  what  had  Become  of  her  beau,  whom  papa 
had  kept  quite  close  for  a  day  or  two,  he  had  the  girl 
arrested,  and  accused  her  of  stealing  some  little  thing  that 
had  been  missed  from  the  house,  and  threatened  to  send  her 
to  jail,  wbere  she  would  have  been  whipped  for  it,  you  know. 
8he  was  dreadfully  terrified,  and  begged,  and  prayed,  and  so, 
after  papa  had  kept  her  locked  up  all  night  alone,  he  let  hei 


IDA     MAY.  256 

go ;  for  he  did  not  really  suspect  her,  and  only  wanted  to 
frighten  her.  But  he  went  down  there  that  day,  and  told  the 
girl's  father  he  might  move  ten  miles  away  in  any  direction 
he  pleased,  or  he  would  prosecute  her  for  stealing.  Of  course 
they  could  not  help  themselves,  and  were  obliged  to  move ; 
for,  even  if  they  were  innocent,  they  were  too  miserably  poor 
to  do  anything  at  law  with  a  man  in  father's  positfbn;  and  so 
we  got  rid  of  them  nicely." 

Walter  winced  a  little  at  the  triumphant  tone  in  which  this 
little  story  was  concluded.  He  looked  up  quickly  to  see  if 
there  was  not  some  expression  of  face,  to  contradict  the  feel- 
ing the  tone  would  indicate.  But  no.  That  blue  eye  was 
calm  and  cold,  and  those  beautiful  lips  wore  a  smile  of  exult 
ation,  as  she  turned  to  him,  as  if  expecting  his  sympathy 
For  the  first  time,  since  his  return  home,  his  cousin's  smile  did 
not  make  him  supremely  happy,  and  there  was  a  very  percep- 
tible bitterness  in  his  tone  as  he  said,  "  It  is  almost  a  pity 
you  did  not  let  Alfred  marry  the  girl,  as  he  wanted  to. 
What  harm  could  have  come  of  it  ?  " 

"  0,  it  would  never  have  done  at  all !  "  replied  Mabel, 
warmly.  "  You  have  no  idea  how  ugly  and  discontented  the 
servants  get  if  they  associate  much  with  the  free  negroes. 
Papa  always  said  so,  and  declared  that  he  would  not  have 
one  of  them  about  here.  They  don't  belong  together,  and 
ought  not  to  be  together.  I  am  sure  it  has  proved  so  in 
Alfred's  case,  for  ever  since  that  time  he  has  been  as  sulky 
and  as  discontented  as  possible.  He  is  downright  ungrateful 
22* 


256  IDA     MAT. 

and  so  I  tell  Maum  Abby,  who  is  always  in  the  dumps  if  he 
tfan't  have  everything  he  wants." 

"  He  is  her  only  son,  you  know,"  said  Ida,  gently.  "  It  ia 
not  strange  she  should  sympathize  in  his  feelings." 

"  But  he  has  no  business  to  have  such  feelings,"  persisted 
Mabel.  "  You  have  no  idea  what  ridiculous  notions  he  has 
about  himself.  It  is  not  only  that  he  could  n't  marry  Elsie, 
—  though  I  do  believe  the  deceitful  fellow  has  managed  to 
keep  company  with  her  ejer  since,  but  papa  don't  choose  to 
take  any  notice  of  it,  —  but  he  is  always  teasing  papa  for 
leave  to  buy  his  own  freedom.  Papa  took  all  the  pains  to 
send  him  to  Columbia  and  have  him  learn  a  carpenter's  trade, 
so  he  is  now  a  superior  workman,  and  he  has  really  a  genius 
for  architecture,  —  you  should  see  some  of  the  plans  he  has 
drawn,  —  and  now,  after  all  that,  he  is  n't  willing  to  stay 
here  and  work  !  He  thinks  the  little  things  we  have  for  him 
to  do  are  quite  beneath  his  dignity,  —  the  proud  puppy ! " 
she  added,  with  a  sneer.  "  He  says  if  he  could  go  to  some 
ity,  he  could  earn  enough  in  a  few  years,  by  working  out  of 
lours,  to  buy  himself.  As  if  he  'd  be  any  better  off,  then  ! 
It  is  very  annoying." 

"  It  must  be  exceedingly  so,  to  have  a  servant  get  into 
such  an  unwarrantable  frame  of  mind,"  said  Ida.  "  It  is 
very  strange,  considering  all  the  circumstances,  that  Alfred 
can't  be  happy  and  contented  here." 

"  It  is,  indeed  ! "  replied  Mabel,  unconscious  of  the  sarcasm 
intended.  "  And  to  think  he  should  turn  out  so,  after  we 
have  done  so  much  for  him  !  I  'm  sure  he  was  treated  almost 


IDA     MAT.  257 

like  one  of  the  family,  till  he  began  to  be  so  obstinate,  and, 
even  then,  papa  did  all  he  could  for  him.  He  told  him  he 
might  marry  any  one  of  the  servants  he  pleased,  and  should 
have  a  mighty  fine  wedding,  —  a  perfect  jubilee,  —  and  be 
married  by  a  minister,  too ;  but  the  ungrateful  fellow  did  n't 
so  much  as  thank  him." 

"  What  an  instance  of  human  depravity  !  "  exclaimed  Ida, 
mockingly.  "  I  wonder  at  your  father's  forbearance !  It 
seems  to  be  a  great  mistake,  in  the  economy  of  nature,  that 
this  Anglo-African  race  are  possessed  of  a  mind  and  a  will." 

"  I  agree  with  you  there,"  replied  Mabel.  "  There  is 
nothing  that  spoils  a  servant  like  having  a  will  of  his  own. 
He  has  no  need  of  it.  It  don't  belong  to  the  station  for  which 
he  is  born,  and  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  put  it  down 
at  once  ;  for  one  can  have  no  further  peace  in  a  house  where 
a  servant  has  set  himself  up  in  opposition  to  his  master.  But 
papa  has  been  unwilling  to  resort  to  harsh  measures,  because 
mama  feels  so  badly  whenever  anything  happens  to  make 
Maum  Abby  sorry." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  "Wynn,  who,  as  she'sat  in  her  arm-chair 
in  the  corner,  had  quietly  listened  to  the  conversation  thus 
far,  "  I  am  very  much  attached  to  Maum  Abby,  and  I  can't 
help  feeling  for  her.  Alfred  is  her  only  son,  and  it  isn't 
strange  she  should  think  he  ought  to  be  indulged,  even  if  he 
is  a  little  unreasonable.  Beside,  Mabel,  you  know  that  Alfred 
always  does  what  he  is  to?d  to,  and  does  it  well ;  and  it  seems 
a  little  hard  to  punish  him  for  being  eulky,  when  we  know 
he  is  very  unhappy." 


258  IDA     MAT. 

The  gentle  little  lady  spoke  in  a  timid,  apologizing  manner 
as  if  she  thought  her  kind  feeling  was  a  weakness  which  re 
quired  excuse.  But  Mabel  only  replied,  "  He  ought  not  to 
he  unhappy,  —  he  has  no  cause.  If  he  would  be  less  obsti- 
nate, and  get  rid  of  these  foolish  notions  of  liberty  he  has  got 
from  associating  with  the  free  negroes,  he  would  be  happy 
enough.  I  think  some  discipline,  that  would  take  down  his 
pride  a  little,  would  be  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  him, 
and  make  him  far  more  agreeable  to  us  that  have  to  endure 
his  sulky  moods  so  often  now.  As  Ida  says,  it  is  mighty  in 
convenient  to  have  them  have  a  will  of  their  own." 

Ida  had  determined  to  be  very  calm  and  discreet.  She 
had  many  reasons  for  avoiding  whatever  might  offend  or 
wound  those  around  her,  but  she  could  no  longer  endure  to  be 
so  misunderstood. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  you  did  not  under- 
stand me,  Mabel  ?  O,  think  what  are  Alfred's  real  circum- 
stances, —  think  what  trials  of  feeling  he  must  endure !  No 
doubt  he  loved  this  Elsie,  with  a  deep  and  true  affection,  and 
she  returned  it  Think  what  an  insult  to  every  right  feeling 
it  is  to  offer  him  another  wife,  and  compel  him  to  abandon 
Elsie,  simply  to  gratify  the  arbitrary  wish  of  his  master  !  0, 
Mabel,  what  if  it  were  yourself,  —  how  would  you  feel  in  like 
circumstances  ?  " 

*  Nonsense,  Ida,  —  don't  go  into  heroics  !  1  did  give  you 
credit  for  having  gained  a  little  common  sense  since  I  saw 
you  last,  but  it  seems  I  was  mistaken,"  replied  the  beauty 
with  a  scornful  laugh. 


I  U  A     M  4  T  .  259 

'  I  » ;i  talking  common  sense,"  persisted  Ida.  "  I  am 
appea_ng  to  the  best  feelings  of  your  heart.  Don't  dismis? 
the  subject  with  a  sneer  and  a  laugh.  Try  to  learn  compas- 
sion for  him  by  thinking  how  you  would  feel  —  " 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing,"  interrupted  Mabel ;  "  and  I 
don't  thank  you  for  the  comparison.  There  is  a  vast  differ- 
ence between  Alfred  and  myself." 

"  0,  no  doubt  you  reckon  yourself  composed  of  the  porce- 
lain of  human  clay  ! "  replied  Ida,  almost  bitterly ;  "  and  yet, 
I  read  in  my  Bible  that  '  God  hath  made  of  one  blood  all 
men  that  dwell  upon  the  face  of  the  whole  earth.' " 

She  paused  a  moment.  The  firelight,  which  fell  over  her 
as  she  bent  forward  a  little,  and  raised  her  hand  in  tho 
earnestness  of  her  speaking,  showed  her  face  animated  with 
a  noble  and  pure  expression,  and  her  eyes  almost  flashed  with 
indignation,  as  she  continued,  "  There  is  nothing,  nothing  in 
all  the  wrongs  and  woes  which  this  system  of  domestic  servi- 
tude is  heaping  higher  and  higher  continually,  nothing  that 
seems  to  me  such  a  fraud  upon  humanity,  such  infidelity 
towards  the  Creator,  as  this  attempt  to  crush  and  root  out 
that  God-given  thing  —  the  human  will.  I  know  this  domin- 
ion over  the  will  of  the  servant  is  essential  to  his  value  as 
property,  —  I  know  the  master  could  not  live  in  peace  with- 
out it,  —  I  ki.^w  public  tranquillity  depends  upon  this  utter 
subordination ;  but  all  that,  instead  ^f  reconciling  me  to  the 
fact,  deepens  my  abhorrence  of  a  system  that  demands  so 
horrible  a  sacrifice.  Think  what  incredible  strength  there  is 
in  the  human  will !  —  what  noble,  what  mighty  deeds  it  has 


26»'  IDA     MAY. 

achieved !  —  to  what  heroism  it  has  nerved  the  feeble-  and  the 
timid !  —  what  tortures  men  have  endured  with  smiles,  be- 
cause this  innate  principle  triumphed  over  the  quivering 
muscles  and  the  fainting  frame !  O,  what  a  prolonged  agony 
—  prolonged  through  many  generations  —  it  must  be,  which 
crushes  and  destroys  the  will !  The  old  torture  of  the  peine 
forte  et  dure  was  nothing  in  comparison  with  it." 

She  spoke  rapidly,  and  with  an  energy  that  bore  down  all 
interruption,  and,  when  she  had  ceased,  a  thoughtful  silence 
succeeded.  Mabel  was  the  first  to  break  it.  She  did  not 
like  the  expression  with  which  Walter's  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
Ida's  face. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  let  us  have  some  music,  and  '  drive 
dull  care  away.'  The  world  may  be  spinning  round  the 
wrong  way,  but,  if  it  is,  my  head  is  spinning  in  the  same 
direction,  and  I  fail  to  perceive  the  confusion." 

Her  words  were  mirthful,  and  carefully  toned  to  the  gentlp 
accent  she  knew  he  most  liked  to  hear ;  but  they  jarred  upon 
the  ear  that  was  yet  echoing  with  Ida's  grave  and  earnest 
utterance,  and  upon  thoughts  which,  after  lying  long  dormant 
in  his  brain,  seemed  now  rousing  themselves  to  a  new  and 
startling  power.  She  perceived  this,  and,  leaning  forward, 
she  placed  her  warm,  soft  hand  on  his,  and,  looking  up  into 
his  eyes,  said,  softly,  "  Come,  Walter." 

She  knew  that  touch,  and  that  tone,  would  thrill  every 
nerve  in  his  frame,  like  an  electric  shock ;  and  she  cast  back 
ward  upon  Ida  a  quick  glance  of  triumph,  as  he  led  her  to 
the  piano. 


IDA     MAY.  261 

Ida  looked  after  them  in  silence.  She  saw  the  lingering 
pressure  with  which  Walter  relinquished  Mabel's  hand ;  she 
heard  the  low  tone  in  which  words,  indistinct  to  her,  were 
spoken ;  she  marked  the  rapt  and  entranced  attention  with 
which  he  listened  to  her  singing,  and  a  keen  pain  wrung  her 
heart.  Walter,  from  whom  she  had  hoped  so  much,  —  who 
had  been  from  childhood  her  beau  ideal  of  all  that  was  noble: 
and  generous,  and  manly,  —  was  he,  after  all,  no  better,  no 
wiser,  no  more  unselfish,  than  the  rest  of  mankind  ?  Had  he 
forgotten  the  grand  schemes  of  benevolence  that  had  been  the 
dream  of  his  boyhood  ?  Now  that  the  time  for  action  ha<) 
come,  was  he  about  to  repress  his  first  fresh  impulses,  and 
adopt  ideas  less  at  war  with  his  pecuniary  interests  ?  He, 
the  hero  —  the  all-conquering  —  was  he  about  to  sacrifice 
to  mammon,  or,  for  the  sake  of  a  blind  love,  bind  himself  t*> 
a  course  he  had  once  abhorred  ?  It  must  be  so,  else  why  had 
he  not  spoken  one  word  in  token  of  sympathy  with  her,  when 
he  saw  her  combating  alone  against  a  host  of  prejudices  * 
Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  bitter  disappointment ;  for,  of  all 
the  trials  of  womanhood,  there  is  none  greater  than  that 
which  so  many  have  to  endure,  in  discovering  the  idol  of 
their  youthful  imagination  to  be  made  only  of  common  clay, 
and  its  grand  proportions  dwaifed  to  the  common  standard  of 
humanity. 


CflAPTEE   Xil. 

"  This  is  sad  !  this  is  piteous  !  but  less  would  not  have  .sufficed  the 
purposes  of  Go<i.  The  future  is  the  present  of  God,  and  to  that  future 
he  sacrifices  the  human  present.  Therefore  it  is  that  he  works  by 
earthquake.  Therefore  it  is  that  he  works  by  grief.  0,  deep  is  the 
ploughing  of  earthquake  !  0,  deep  is  the  ploughing  of  grief  !  but  less 
than  these  fierce  ploughshares  would  not  have  stirred  the  stubborn  soil." 

THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY. 

IT  was  a  clear,  frosty  night.  The  moon  was  sinking  slowly 
to  the  western  horizon,  but  the  first  faint  light  of  dawn  had 
not  yet  appeared,  and  the  stars  were  looking  through  a  thin, 
misty  veil  down  where  deep  shadows  lay  over  the  landscape. 
Through  the  darkest  of  these  shadows,  keeping  as  much  as 
possible  among  the  trees  and  along  the  fences  and  hedges,  a 
man  was  walking  with  a  quick,  light  step  through  the  "Wynn 
plantation.  Pausing  a  moment  now  and  then,  as  he  came 
nearer  the  house,  to  hush  some  one  of  the  numerous  doga 
that  at  various  points  started  up  with  a  bark  to  meet  him, 
but  who,  upon  recognizing  him,  slunk  silently  away,  he  went 
on  till  he  reached  the  yard,  crossed  it,  and,  pushing  open  tho 

door  of  Maum    Abby's  room,  entered  and  threw  himself 

• 
heavily  u^on  a  chair. 


IRA     MAY.  263 

The  little  room  was,  as  usual,  in  perfect  order,  but  it  was 
evident  that  the  bed  had  not  been  occupied  through  the  night, 
and  the  dim  candle  that  burned  on  the  table  showed  a  face 
anxious  and  pale  with  watching,  as  Maum  Abby  rose  from 
her  seat  by  the  fire.  Going  to  the  man,  who  was  now  leaning 
his  head  on  his  hands,  she  removed  the  hat  which  was  pulled 
down  over  his  brows,  and,  smoothing  back  the  damp  curls  of 
glossy  dark  hair,  she  pressed  her  lips  repeatedly  upon  them., 
upon  his  forehead,  and  the  hands  that  covered  his  face,  her 
features  working  convulsively  all  the  while,  as  if  it  was  only 
by  a  strong  effort  she  could  refrain  from  tears. 

The  man  sat  silent,  making  no  token  of  reply  to  her 
caresses,  for  some  minutes,  and  then  his  head  sank  lower  and 
lower,  till  it  rested  on  the  table  before  him  ;  a  shudder  passed 
over  his  whole  frame,  as  if  all  its  cords  and  muscles  were 
giving  way,  and  sobs  burst  from  his  bosom,  thick,  gasping, 
as  if  the  tempest  of  grief  would  break  the  strong  heart  it 
was  conversing. 

Maum  Abby  made  no  further  endeavor  to  restrain  the 
expression  of  her  own  sorrows,  but,  sitting  down  beside  him, 
with  one  arm  over  his  neck,  she  leaned  her  forehead  upon 
his  shoulder  and  wept  silently.  At  length  they  both  grew 
calmer,  and,  as  the  violence  of  his  emotion  became  exhausted, 
she  raised  herself,  and,  lifting  his  head  with  a  gentle  force, 
she  drew  it  down  till  it  rested  on  her  bqsom,  and  with  a 
trembling  hand  she  wiped  his  tear-wet  face,  and  stroked  his 
hair  with  a  low  murmufing  sound,  as  one  would  soothe  a 
offild. 


264  ID.      »I  A  Y  . 

"  1  shall  tire  you,  mother,"  he  said,  at  length  attempting? 
to  rise. 

"  No,  Alfred,  no,"  sae  replied,  in  a  tone  of  quiet  sadness. 
"  You  have  found  comfort  for  many  sorrows  in  resting  them 
upon  your  mother's  heart,  and  it  will  not  fail  you  now.  Rest, 
my  boy.  You  must  be  very  weary,  and  this  may  be  the  last 
time  my  bosom  can  be  your  pillow." 

Her  voice  choked  again,  but  she  shed  no  more  tears. 
There  was  a  long  pause,  for  Alfred  was  exhausted  in  body 
and  mind.  After  a  time,  however,  he  raised  himself,  and 
then  his"  nwther  asked, 

"  Did  Elsie  bear  it  well,  at  last  ?  " 

"  Better  than  I  expected,"  replied  Alfred ;  "  and  in  fact 
for  her  sake  I  am  glad  that  this  parting  is  finally  over.  Ever 
since  she  was  here  last  week,  —  Christmas  day,  you  know,  — 
she  has  been  in  a  perfect  fever  of  anxiety  and  expectation 
I  expect  she  will  be  sick  ;  perhaps  she  will  die.  She  has  n't 
much  constitution,  and  I  can  see  how  dreadfully  the  trials  ol 
the  last  three  years  have  worn  her.  It  won't  take  much  now 
to  kill  her." 

He  said  this  with  a  gloomy  calmness,  that  was  more  pain- 
ful to  his  mother  than  tears. 

"  Poor  boy !  poor  boy  !  "  she  said  softly,  "  how  she  loves 
you ! " 

A  convulsive  sigh  swelled  Alfred's  breast,  but  he  restrained 
all  further  demonstration  of  grief,  and  after  a  few  moment 
replied  in  a  quiet  tone,  * 

"  Yes.  she  loves  roe.  and  that  love  has  been  the  curse  Jf 


IDA     MAT.  265 

Her  life  It  has  caused  her  to  be  persecuted  by  Mr.  Wynn, 
and  has  eaten  up  her  health  and  strength  with  anxiety  for 
me.  It  would  have  been  better  had  I  minded  what  you  said 
f'rom  the  first,  and  by  attempting  this  escape  long  ago,  as  you 
wanted  me  to  do,  left  her  free,  while  she  could  perhaps  have 
loved  somebody  else  who  could  have  made  her  happy.  And 
yet,"  —  he  added,  lifting  his  head,  and  speaking  in  a  more 
earnest,  animated  tone,  —  "  and  yet,  what  a  blessing,  what  a 
comfort  she  has  been  to  me,  in  spite  of  all !  0,  mother !  I 
have  often  thought,  for  a  little  while,  that  I  was  richer  and 
happier  than  he  is,"  —  and  he  pointed  towards  the  room  where 
Mr.  Wynn  was  then  sleeping,  — "  in  the  possession  of  this 
feeling  that  made  me  forget  everything  else.  0,  mother ! 
nobody  can  tell,  but  those  who  have  known  from  experience, 
the  strength  of  the  tie  that  binds  us  together,  who  have  no 
other  joy,  no  other  comfort,  nothing  else  to  make  life  bright! 
It  is  stronger  than  the  love  of  freedom,  stronger  than  the 
hatred  of  servitude ;  it  makes  us  indifferent  to  everything  else, 
and  contented  if  we  can  have  that  one  thing  we  love !  If  I 
could  have  lived  with  Elsie  in  peace,  I  would  never  have 
tried  to  be  free.  Mr.  Wynn  is  a  fool !  "  he  added,  rising, 
with  a  bitter  laugh ;  "  he  has  strained  the  bow  till  it  has 
broken." 

Maum  Abby  looked  at  her  son  as  he  walked  to  and  fro 
in  the  narrow  room,  and  her  heart  swelled  with  contending 
emotions.  She  knew  how  deep  was  his  affection  for  his  wife, 
and  the  struggle  it  had  cost  him  to  repel  her  fears  and  resolve 
to  leave  her.  Yet  she  felt  that  the  sacrifice  of  present  ^.om 


266  IDA     MAT. 

fort  to  future  good,  which  the  husband  and  wife  were  making, 
was  nothing  in  comparison  to  that  required  of  her.  Elsie 
was  a  timid,  girlish  little  creature,  and  she  had  a  thousand 
fears  as  to  what  might  become  cf  herself  and  her  boy,  in  case 
Mr.  Wynn's  vengeance  should  alight  upon  them,  when  he 
found  Alfred  was  gone.  She  had  also  a  deeper  and  more 
unselfish  anxiety,  which  was  wearing  out  her  life,  lest  the 
hardships  and  perils  of  his  long  and  venturesome  journey 
towards  the  land  of  freedom,  should  prove  too  much  for  her 
husband's  strength  and  life ;  or  that  some  of  the  numerous 
enemies,  that  would  beset  his  path  behind  and  before,  should 
force  him  to  a  combat  where  escape  was  hopeless,  and  a 
speedy  death  from  his  own  hand,  the  most  merciful  fate  she 
could  anticipate  for  him. 

But,  if  he  succeeded, —  if  he  reached  the  blessed  land  where 
his  powers  would  no  longer  be  fettered,  where  his  mother 
fondly  dreamed  he  would  acquire  wealth,  and  education,  and 
all  the  advantages  of  freedom, —  there  Elsie  might  go  to  him  ; 
she  could  live  with  him  in  happiness  the  rest  of  her  days, 
and  be  proud  of  his  prosperity.  But  his  mother  had  no  such 
hope  to  cheer  her.  After  the  setting  of  another  sun  she 
should  never  more  behold  the  face  that  had  been  dearer  to 
her  ttun  the  daylight  —  more  precious,  more  fondly  cherished 
than  tier  own  life.  It  was  her  right,  her  duty,  to  securt 
liberty  for  her  son ;  but  she  felt  that  the  ties  which  bound  hei 
to  her  mistress  were  such  as  could  never  be  broken.  Mrs 
Wynn  depended  upon  her  for  much  of  society,  and  for  assist 
ance  in  the  cares  of  housekeeping ;  and  gratitude  and  lovt 


IDA     MAY.  267 

alike  forbade  iier  to  leave  one  who  had  always  been  to  her 
like  a  younger  sister.  To  these  duties  she  must  devote  her- 
self so  long  as  Mrs.  Wynn  lived.  She  might  hear  of  her  son's 
success,  and  rejoice  in  it,  but  she  could  never  see  him  again. 
It  was  under  the  influence  of  this  train  of  thoughts  that  she 
said, 

"  Mr.  Richard  has  been  harsh  and  cruel  to  you  and 
Elsie,  I  know ;  but  even  if  he  had  not,  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible for  you  to  have  been  contented  to  be  always  a  ser- 
vant. You  have  powers  of  mind  which  must  expand ;  and 
the  little  education  I  have  been  able  to  give  you  has  given 
you  a  taste  for  more.  You  already  know  an  amount  which 
is  considered  dangerous." 

"  Yes,"  said  Alfred,  smiling ;  "  they  will  have  reason  to 
consider  it  so,  when  I  get  far  enough  away  to  emerge  from 
the  swamps,  and  travel  in  the  public  conveyances.  I  have 
papers  and  letters  enough  to  prove  to  anybody,  that  never 
saw  me,  that  I  am  a  free  negro,  moving  north  from  Ala 
bama." 

Alfred  was  very  handsome,  notwithstanding  his  dark  skin  ;• 
for  he  had  straight,  well-formed  features,  and  silken,  wavy 
hair.  His  mother  gazed  at  his  face,  lighted  now  by  a  smile 
of  hope  and  triumph,  and  she  almost  groaned  aloud  as  she 
thought  how  lonely  her  home  would  seem  when  he  was 
gone. 

"  0,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  was  for  this  I  taught  you   to 
write,  for  this  I  stimulated  your  thirst  for  knowledge,  and 
used  every  means  to  procure  books  for  you  to  read !     It  was 
28* 


268  IDA     MAT. 

for  this  I  "rejoiced  when  I  saw  you  quick  to  leain,  quick  to 
remember,  ingenious,  active  in  body  and  mind  !  It  was  for 
this  I  mourned  when  I  saw  how  your  love  for  Elsie  diverted 
you  from  the  intense  desire  for  freedom,  after  I  had  educated 
you  to  know  your  rights  as  a  man,  and  to  long  to  claim  them. 
O,  Alfred,  it  was  for  this,  for  this  very  hour;  and  now  it  has 
come,  my  heart  fails  me  !  When  you  reach  the  north,  you 
can  have  Elsie  and  your  boy ;  but  0,  my  son,  you  will  never 
see  your  mother  again,  —  never  !  " 

Her  voice  died  away  in  a  low  moan,  and  she  bowed  her 
head  despairingly ;  but  Alfred  was  now  aroused  from  the  ex- 
treme depression  and  the  violent  grief  which  parting  with  his 
wife  had  caused  him,  and  hopefulness  had  taken  the  place  of 
despondency.  He  comforted  his  mother  with  tender  words, 
and  bright  pictures  of  the  future ;  and  though  she  shook  her 
head  sadly,  when  he  spoke  of  having  her  with  him  in  his 
northern  home,  she  was  half  persuaded  to  believe  that  by  and 
by,  when  she  was  old  and  feeble,  so  that  she  could  no  longer 
be  of  service  to  Mrs.  Wynn,  she  might  go  to  live  with  him. 
In  the  mean  time,  he  would  write  to  her.  Some  way  would 
be  found  by  which  they  could  correspond,  and  she  would  be  far 
happier  to  know  he  was  prosperous  and  happy  at  a  distance 
from  her,  than  to  have  him  with  her,  and  see  him  coerced 
and  threatened  like  a  dog.  The  more  he  talked  to  her,  the 
brighter  his  own  hopes  grew,  and  it  was  with  hearts  com- 
paratively light  and  happy  that  they  sought  their  respective 
beds,  just  as  the  day  was  dawning. 


IDA     MAY.  269 

That  morning,  as  the  family  was  sitting  around  the  break- 
fast-table, after  their  morning  repast  was  finished,  Mr.  Wynn 
said  to  Ida,  "  Now  that  the  Christmas  frolics  are  over,  and 
we  have  come  back  to  the  sober  routine  of  life,  I  suppose 
you  will  expect  me  to  give  an  account  of  my  stewardship, 
and  deliver  to  you  the  title-deeds  of  Miss  Ida  May's  estate." 

Ida  smiled,  and  said  she  was  in  no  hurry  to  assume  respon- 
sibility and  care. 

"  Nevertheless, '  replied  Mr.  Wynn,  pleasantly,  "  since  it 
must  be  done,  you  may  come  to  the  library  after  dinner,  and 
I  will  endeavor  to  be  ready  for  you."  Then  turning  to  Wal- 
ter, he  added,  "  You  remember  I  advised  you,  some  weeks 
since,  to  sell  your  plantation  and  stock,  and  yesterday  I  heard 
of  a  gentleman  who,  I  think,  will  purchase.  He  will  proba- 
bly also  buy  the  negroes,  if  you  wish  to  sell.  It  would  be 
oetter,  I  think,  for  you  to  sell  all  who  are  too  old  to  change 
their  habits ;  the  others  it  will  be  more  profitable  to  hire  out. 
They  will  bring  you  in  quite  a  revenue  ;  and  if  you  are  to 
live  in  the  city  and  practise  law,  you  won't  want  the  care  of  a 
worn-out  plantation.  If  you  like,  we  will  drive  down  to  Col. 
Ross'  place,  where  I  met  the  gentleman  who  talks  of  purchas- 
ing." 

Ida  glanced  wistfully  at  "Walter  while  his  uncle  was  speak- 
ing. She  had  longed  to  know  what  disposal  he  meant  to 
snake  of  his  property ;  but  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in 
him,  and  the  slight  restraint  that  had  sprung  up  between 
them,  had  prevented  her  from  recurring  to  a  subject  on  which 
*he  feared  they  would  have  nr  eoincidence  of  opinion.  Wai 


270  IDA     MAT. 

tor  looked  thoughtful  and  grave  for  a  moment,  and  then  he 
said  quietly,  "I  should  prefer  thinking  of  the  matter  a  little 
first.  I  have  hardly  been  over  to  Oaklands  since  my  return 
and  I  know  little  of  the  state  of  affairs  there.  Is  the  gentle- 
man going  to  leave  immediately  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  off;  a  few  days  will  make  no  differ 
ence,"  said  Mr.  Wynn,  a  little  coldly. 

"  And  he  cannot  go  to-day,  at  any  rate,"  said  Mabel  gayly, 
"  for  he  has  promised  to  go  out  with  me  to  try  my  new  pony, 
—  your  Christmas-gift,  papa."  The  beauty  laid  her  hand  on 
her  father's  arm,  and  looked  up  at  him  with  her  bright  eyes. 
She  was  the  only  person  in  the  house  who  was  familiar 
with  him.  There  seemed  to  be  a  perfect  sympathy  between 
them. 

Her  father  smiled,  but  made  no  objection.  He  had  con- 
fidence in  Mabel.  He  understood  her  quite  well,  and  he  had 
no  fear  that  she  would  balk  his  schemes  for  her  through  any 
foolish  sentimentalism.  So  long  as  she  did  not  entangle  her- 
self with  any  engagement,  Walter  might  pay  her  any  atten- 
tions she  chose.  Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  a  woolly 
head  was  thrust  into  the  room,  and  the  voice  of  a  young 
negro  waiter  said,  "  Please,  Miss  Emma,  you  'se  done  finished 
breakus,  ole  Uncle  Billy  want  see  you  mighty  bad.  He  not 
BO  bery  well  heself  dis  mornin'." 

"  Tell  him  I  will  come  soon,'  replied  Mrs.  Wynn,  and  the 
Doy  disappeared ;  but  returned  again,  in  a  few  moments,  say- 
ing, "  Uncle  Bill  say  you  must  come  right  'way  now.     He , 
done  hurt  he  sore  toe,  and  it  do  ache  powerful." 


1 1  A     MAY.  271 

Mrs.  Wynn  rose  to  tais  second  summons,  and  went  out 
She  was  surgeon  and  doctor  to  most  of  her  servants,  as 
indeed,  the  mistresses  of  plantations  usually  are.  When  Ida 
and  the  rest  followed,  a  few  minutes  after,  they  found  her 
bending  over  the  negro's  huge,  dirty  foot,  and,  with  her  soft 
white  hands,  cleansing  and  binding  up  the  wounded  part. 
As  Ida  stood  by  looking  on,  Walter  remained  a  moment  besido 
her. 

"  What  you  said  the  other  night,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
referring  to  it,  abruptly,  for  the  first  time,  "  was  very  true ; 
and  yet  there  is  another  aspect  in  which  to  view  the  subject. 
Look  at  this  instance.  What  northern  woman,  of  Aunt 
Emma's  station  in  life,  would  perform  these  menial  offices 
for  a  sick  negro  ?  " 

"  Many  would,  I  trust,  if  it  were  necessary,"  replied  Ida. 
"  There  are  kind-hearted  and  charitable  women  there,  as  well 
as  here.  But  it  is  disgusting  business  in  itself  considered." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Walter ;  "  and  yet  it  is  part  of  the 
duty  which  every  lady  owes  her  servants,  and  pays  them  with- 
out a  murmur.  Ah,  Ida,  the  cloud  may  have  a  silver  lining, 
after  all ! " 

"  God  forbid  that  it  should  he  all  darkness  when  there  is  so 
much  light  in  human  homes !  But,  Walter,"  she  added,  with 
an  arch  glance  from  under  her  long  eyelashes,  "  if  this  man  had 
always  been  free,  —  if  he  had  not  always  been  treated  aa 
a  child,  —  he  wou'.d  probably  have  known  enough  himself 
to  take  care  of  sc  simple  a  wound  as  this ;  and  he  would, 
perhaps,  have  had  the  means  to  procure  medica  attendances 


272  IDA     MAT. 

or  ointments  and  soft  linen  io  wrap  it  with ;  and  he  might 
have  had  a  wife  and  a  child,  who  would  have  been  capable 
of  performing  this  office;  so  that  the  delicate  ladies,  like 
Mrs.  Wynn,  might  be  relieved  from  employments  so  repul- 
ave.  Ah,  Walter  !  " 

Walter  laughed,  and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair, 
flow  that  gesture  always  recalled  to  Ida  the  days  when  she 
first  knew  him !  "  The  same  trenchant  little  Ida  as  of 
yore !  "  he  said.  "  I  believe  you  have  changed  less  than 
anybody." 

"  Is  that  intended  for  a  compliment  ?  "  replied  Ida ;  "  be- 
cause, if  it  is,  I  will  endeavor  to  behave  properly  under  the 
Infliction;  "  —  and  she  cast  down  her  eyes  with  a  comical  ex- 
pression ;  —  "  but  it  won't  do  to  throw  away  my  blushes,  if 
you  mean  that  I  am  the  only  one  who  has  not  been  improved 
by  the  lapse  of  years." 

Walter  was  about  to  make  a  merry  rejoinder,  when  his  at- 
tention was  attracted  by  seeing  one  of  the  plantation  people 
peering  round  the  corner  of  the  house  near  them.  He  had 
come  up  the  steps  of  the  front  piazza,  and,  hearing  voices,  had 
ventured  near. 

"  What  a  wicked-looking  face  !  "  exclaimed  Ida,  in  a  low 
/oice,  as  her  eyes  fell  on  him. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Walter ;  "  that  is  a  specimen  of  the  class 
that  puzzle  philanthropists."  Then,  raising  his  voice,  he 
added,  "  Ho,  boy !  what  are  you  looking  for  here  ?  " 

"Want  see  massa,"  the  man  mumbled  out,  after  some 
hesitation. 


IDA     M  4.  Y  .  273 

"  Go  to  yonder  door,  then,  and  you  will  find  him,"  replied 
Walter.  "  I  hear  him  talking  in  the  hall." 

"  Want  see  he  'lone,  —  got  somethin'  tell,"  muttered  the 

• 
negro. 

"  Go  then  and  see  him  'lone,"  replied  "Walter.  "  Here  you, 
Dick," — beckoning  to  a  small  scion  of  the  colored  race  stand- 
ing near,  —  "  go, show  this  boy  to  your  master." 

The  fellow  went  after  his  guide,  with  downcast  eyes  and 
a  shuffling  gait ;  and  through  the  open  door  they  saw  that, 
after  a  few  words,  Mr.  Wynn  led  the  way  to  the  library  the 
negro  following. 

"  Now,  then,  what  is  it  ? "  said  Mr.  Wynn,  as  he  closed 
the  door  behind  them,  and  seated  himself  in  his  study  chair. 
'"I  warn  you,  beforehand,  that  I  will  listen  to  no  com- 
plaints." 

"  'T  a'n't  no  complaint,  'zactly,  I  'se  gwine  make,  massa," 
said  the  man,  his  small  eyes  glancing  around  the  room  with  a 
cunning  and  treacherous  expression. 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  —  be  quick  !  "  said  Mr.  Wynn. 

"  I  'se  got  somethin'  for  tell  massa,  maybe  massa  like 
know,"  replied  he,  in  a  low  tone,  and  with  the  same  restless 
glances. 

"  Here  you  !  —  what 's  your  name  ? "  asked  Mr.  Wynn. 

"  A'n't  got  no  name,  'zactly ;  dey  calls  me  '  Number  Tree*, 
replied  he,  with  a  grin. 

"  No  name  .  —  how  happened  that  ?  "  exclaimed  his 
'master. 

"See,  massa,  I 'se  mighty  little  when  I 'se  sold,  and  de 


274  IDA     MAT. 

auctionce  he  forgit  my  name,  so  he  calls  me  '  Number  Tree, 
and  dat  be  my  name  cber  sence.     Do  jes'  well,  massa." 

"  Well,  then,  '  Number  Three,'  look  right  at  me,  and  tell 
me  what  you  've  got  to  say,  and  waste  no  more  time  about  it 
Do  you  hear  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wynn. 

"  0  yes,  massa,  me  hears ;  me  allers  hears  powerful  quick , 
me  got  mighty  long  ear  for  hear,  else  me  neber  hear  dat  I  'so 
gwine  tell  massa,  las'  night." 

He  paused,  and  again  Mr.  Wynn  exclaimed,  impatiently, 
"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Massa  know  'bout  dem  mis'eble  free  nigger,  live  down  by 
de  branch  tree  four  year  'go,  —  dem  dat  ar  Alfred  boderate 
massa  'bout,  'fore  massa  tote  em  way  off.  Massa  'mem- 
ber ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  them.     What  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  'se  down  dar  whar  dey  lib,  las'  night,  massa,  and  I  'se 
creepin'  long  under  de  bush,  cause  I  'se  so  scare  de  patrol, 
and  I  sees " 

"  What  were  you  there  for  ? "  exclaimed  Mr.  Wynn,  an- 
grily ;  and  then,  as  the  man  hung  his  head  in  a  disconcerted 
manner,  he  added,  "  Stealing  corn,  I  suppose.  But  go  on ; 
you  did  n't  come  to  tell  me  of  that,  of  course.  You  saw  —  ' 

"  Ki,  massa,"  said  the  fellow,  scratching  his  head.  "  'Twarnt 
dat,  'zacly,  I  come  for  tell  massa.  I  sees  bright  light  shinin' 
out  under  dar  door  and  bimeby  a  man  come  and  open  it,  and 
a  woman  jump  right  in  his  arms  ;  and  dc  light  shine  all  over 
him  when  he  was  huggin'  her,  and  I  sees  't  was  Alfred.' 
Well,  massa,  I  a'n't  nothin'  but  nigger,  but  I  'se  hearu  telJ 


IDA     MAY.  275 

a  heap  'bout  Alfred  and  dat  wench,  so  t'inks  I,  Number 
Tree  '11  watch  and  catch  what  he  can,  and  maybe  massa  give 
him  lutton." 

He  looked  up  slyly,  and  Mr.  Wynn  replied,  "  Yes,  you  did 
right ;  I  will  reward  you.  What  did  you  see  ?  " 

"  Well,  massa,  do  fire  he  crack  and  snap  so,  I  did  n't 
'zacly  hear  much  when  he  was  in  dar,  ony  somebody  cryin' 
some  de  time ;  but  when  he  come  out  to  go  home,  den  I  hear 
de  wench  talk  to  him,  and  he  talk  to  her.  I  can't  tell  'zacly 
what  dey  say ;  but  I  hear  'miff  for  know  dat  ef  massa  don't 
look  mighty  sharp,  he  lose  he  nigger  'fore  to-morrow 
mornin'." 

"  Lose  him,  how  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Wynn,  excitedly. 

"  Yes,  massa,  done  loss  he  entir'ly  ;  he  be  gone  goose  'fore 
to-morrow  mornin',  ef  massa  don't  grab  he  dis  bery  day.  He 
say  he  steal  de  swif '  hos,  and  ride  like  streak  ob  lightnin  all 
night." 

"  Zounds ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Wynn,  letting  his  hand  fall 
heavily  upon  the  table  before  him.  "  I  should  hardly  have 
thought  that  of  him,  sulky  as  he  has  been  of  late.  He  was 
going  to  steal  a  horse,  and  ride  off  to  parts  unknown,  was 
he  ? " 

"  Yes,  massa,  dat  jis'  it ;  and  when  he  done  settle  dar 
whar  he  gwine  go,  den  he  gwine  send  for  de  wench  and  de 
baby." 

"  I  '11  settle  him  ! "  said  Mr.  Wynn,  as  his  brows  grew  dark 
with  anger.  "You  are  very  sure,  —  you  are  certain  it  was 
Alfred,  are  you  ?  " 

'24 


276  IDA     MAT. 

•<  Nc  massa,"  replied  «  Number  Tree,'  again  resorting  to 
his  favorite  manipulation,  and,  rubbing  his  wool  with  great 
violence,  "  No,  massa,  I  can't  say  dat  I  'se  'zacly  certain, 
but  I  'se  right  sure.'1 

Mr.  Wynn  sat  a  few  moments  buried  in  thought.  He  hac. 
sent  Alfred  and  one  of  his  fdlow-servants  some  distance  that 
morning,  with  some  plants  from  his  conservatory,  which  he 
wished  to  present  to  a  neighbor ;  and,  at  first,  he  feared  Alfred 
might  seize  that  opportunity  to  escape ;  but,  after  a  little 
reflection,  he  felt  convinced  that  the  plan  the  negro  had  men- 
tioned was  the  most  feasible,  and  would,  therefore,  most  prob- 
ably be  tried ;  and  that  his  best  course  would  be  to  keep  his 
discovery  a  profound  secret  until  Alfred's  return,  lest  some- 
thing should  transpire  to  give  him  a  hint  of  it,  and  thus  in- 
duce a  premature  flight.  Telling  the  negro,  therefore,  that 
he  would  come  down  to  the  quarters  the  next  day  and  reward 
him  handsomely  for  his  fidelity,  he  charged  him  to  mention 
the  matter  to  no  one,  and  to  return  to  his  work  without  delay, 
and  thus  dismissed  him. 

The  morning  wore  slowly  away.  The  sun,  which  had  arisen 
so  brightly,  shrouded  itself  in  clouds,  and  suddenly  there 
poured  down  one  of  those  incessant  deluging  rains,  that  mark 
a  southern  winter.  There  could  be  no  riding  party  that  day, 
and  the  horses,  that  had  been  brought  round,  were  ordered 
back  to  the  stables;  and  Mabel,  whose  brow  always  grew 
cloudy  with  the  sky,  was  making  up  her  beautiful  lips  to  pout 
a  little  at  the  prospect  of  staying  in-doors  all  day,  when  a 
carriage  drove  to  the  door,  and  Col.  Ross  was  announced 


I  D  A    M  A  y  .  27  ' 

This  was  fortunate  for  Mabel,  who  was  delighted  to  tease 
Walter  by  a  little  flirtation  with  the  gallant  widower.  But 
the  young  gentleman  was  less  pleased.  He  had  hardly  had 
a  moment  of  quiet  conversation  with  his  cousin  during  the 
past  week,  as  they  had  been  constantly  visiting,  or  enter- 
taining guests,  and  he  did  not  like  it  that  she  should  be 
so  evidently  flattered  by  Col.  Ross'  attentions.  He  began  to 
fear  that  Mabel  was  more  artificial,  less  content  with  home 
joys  and  quiet  pleasures,  than  he  should  like  his  wife  to  be ; 
that  she  had  less  intelligence  and  discernment  than '  he  had 
imagined,  or  she  would  not  have  frowned  at  the  idea  of  a 
quiet  morning  with  him,  and  she  would  not  have  welcomed 
that  old  fop,  who  was  now  whispering  compliments  in  her  ear, 
as  they  stood  together  beside  the  flowers  at  the  window  oppo- 
site him.  Yes,  he  was  sure  that  was  a  compliment,  —  it  was 
just  so  she  had  cast  down  her  eyes  and  blushed  bewitchingly, 
when  he  had  told  her,  the  day  before,  in  that  very  spot,  that 
she  was  fairer  and  more  stately  than  the  calla  lily,  whose 
pellucid  cup  they  were  now  admiring.  He  thought  he  was 
only  scornful  of  such  coquetry,  but  he  was  in  fact  dissatisfied 
with  himself  for  thinking  she  could  be  less  than  perfect,  and 
at  the  same  time  intensely  jealous  of  her. 

Meantime,  Ida,  after  going  into  her  room  to  lay  aside 
her  riding  habit,  had  not  returned  to  the  parlor.  She  felt 
nervous  and  restless.  A  vague  presentiment  of  coming  evil 
oppressed  her,  and  she  dreaded  the  meeting  with  Mr.  AVynn, 
which  had  been  appointed  for  the  afternoon.  She  knew  he 
oppose  her  with  harshness,  and,  though  she  was  not 


278  IDA     MAY 

afraid  of  him,  it  would  be  very  disagreeable.  She  sat  for  a 
while  thinking  about  her  future  course,  and  then  went  down 
to  find  Maum  Abby,  and  have  a  little  chat  with  her.  She 
longed  to  tell  her  that  she  knew  her  troubles,  and  sympa 
thized  with  them,  but  whenever  she  had  attempted  to  converse 
with  her,  since  her  return,  -Maum  Abby  had  pleaded  the 
constant  occupations  of  the  busy  week,  as  a  plea  for  leav 
ing  her,  evidently  because  she  did  not  want  to  talk  of 
Alfred. 

This  morning  she  was  sitting  sewing  in  her  neat  little 
room.  She  looked  worn  and  weary,  and  Ida  saw  that  she 
had  been  weeping ;  but  she  was  not  disposed  to  be  talkative, 
and,  after  a  few  fruitless  efforts,  Ida  left  her,  and  returned  to 
the  parlor. 

Mabel  and  Col.  Ross  were  sitting  in  the  bay  window,  play- 
ing backgammon,  and  apparently  carrying  on  an  animated 
conversation.  Walter,  at  the  centre-table,  was  looking  over 
the  plans  for  the  summer-house,  which  Alfred  had  completed 
with  great  neatness  and  elegance.  It  was  to  be  a  tiny  Gothic 
temple,  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  garden,  not  much  in  keep- 
ing with  the  other  edifices  truly,  but  very  tasteful  in  itself 
and  planned  to  suit  Mabel's  fancy,  whose  ideas  upon  archi- 
tecture were  rather  peculiar. 

As  Ida  entered  the  room,  Walter  placed  a  chair  for  her 
beside  him,  and  turned  over  the  drawings  for  her  inspection 
As  she  did  so,  and  saw  the  taste  and  talent  displayed  in  them, 
she  said,  almost  unconsciously  thinking  aloud, 

"  I  don't  biam  •  Alfred  for  wishing  a  wider  scope  for  his 


IDA     M  A  Tt  279 

powers,  and  greater  remuneration.  It  is  a  great  shame  that 
he  is  not  allowed  to  buy  his  freedom." 

"  Treason  !  treason  !  "  said  Walter,  in  a  low  voice,  play- 
fully, and  then  added,  more  gravely,  "  After  all,  would  he  be 
nappier  then  ? " 

"  If  you  had  spoken  those  words  five  years  ago,  they  would 
have  been  transposed  a  little,  and  the  question  would  have 
been  an  affirmation,"  said  Ida,  looking  up  archly. 

Walter  colored  slightly,  as  he  met  her  glance.  "  Ah !  per- 
haps so,"  he  said ;  "  I  was  young,  then,  and  enthusiastic. 
Now  I  have  grown  older  and  wiser,  and  am  inclined  to  let 
the  windmills  of  society  turn  in  peace,  secure  from  any  Quix- 
otic attacks  of  mine." 

"  You  now  prefer  to  employ  yourself  in  grinding  your  corn 
at  the  mill,  rather  than  in  fighting  it,"  replied  Ida,  in  a  play- 
ful manner. 

"  I  understand  you  ;  you  think  I  have  grown  selfish,"  said 
Walter,  quickly.  "  Perhaps  I  have.  Selfishness  is  the  grand 
conservative  element  in  society.  People  always  outgrow  their 
early  enthusiasm,  and  it  is  well  they  do,  or  the  world  would 
be  strangely  turned  upside  down." 

"  If  you  mean  the  enthusiasm  which  is  the  result  of  mere 
animal  spirits,  the  effervescence  of  youthful  ignorance  and 
thoughtlessness,  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Ida ;  "  but  the  en- 
thusiasm for  truth  and  right,  which  is  the  first  instinct  of  a 
voble  soul ;  the  scorn  of  wrong  that  yet  contains  no  Phari- 
saical contempt  for  the  wrong-doer,  —  should  this  abate  a  9 
years  move  on  ?  ShouU1  thin  grow  so  cold,  that  a  man 


IDA     51  A  \  . 

can  at  length  do  that  which  once  he  would  not  allow  in 
another  ?  " 

"  I  know  to  wha.,  you  refer,"  said  "Walter,  gravely  ;  "  but 
other  men  have  done  this,  —  wise  and  good  men,  —  statesmen 
law-givers,  and  clergymen  have  done  this,  and  justified  them- 
selves in  it.  Why  should  I  affect  to  be  wiser  or  better  than 
they  ?  Why  should  I  not  do  as  others  do  ?  " 

Ida  raised  her  clear,  dark  eyes  to  his  face,  and  the  flowery 
crimson  of  her  cheek  deepened,  as  she  replied,  in  a  low, 
earnest  tone,  "  Because  « every  man  shall  give  an  account 
of  himself  to  Go&\'" 

Walter  was  startled  by  this  unexpected  and  solemn  reply. 
He  was  not  wilfully  irreligious,  but  he  was  thoughtless,  care- 
less, as  are  most  young  men  of  his  age,  and  these  few  simple 
words  seemed  to  put  the  whole  subject  in  a  new  light  before 
him.  Instinctively  he  glanced  across  the  room  to  see  if  they 
had  been  overheard ;  but  Mabel  and  Col.  Ross  were  talking 
so  gayly  over  their  game,  that  they  evidently  had  no  thought 
fjr  any  one  but  themselves. 

Ida  had  spoken  from  the  first  impulse  of  her  own  thoughts, 
and  was  half  afraid  the  next  moment  that  he  might  be 
offended  ;  but  he  was  not. 

"  I  acknowledge  the  reproof,"  he  said,  as  he  met  her 
inquiring  look,  "  and  henceforth  I  will  try  not  to  measure 
my  duties  by  another  man's  conscience.  But  this  is  a  per- 
plexing maze  in  which  I  find  myself  involved.  I  do  not 
think  just  as  I  used  to  about  holding  servants,  —  honestly,  I 
do  not.  The  subject  has  its  shadows,  I  know,  in  some  case* 


IDA     MAT.  281 

it  it  seems  to  me  that,  with  kind  and  just  masters,  the  lot 
'..f  our  servants  might  be  made  a  blessing  to  them,  as  well  as 
convenient  for  us." 

Ida  smiled.  "  It  is  the  old  story,  — '  we  first  endure,  then 
pity,  then  embrace.'" 

"  No,  it  is  not  that,  —  it  is  not  the  callousness  of  familiarity 
vith  evil.  It  is  merely  choosing  the  less  dangerous  horn  of 
the  domestic  dilemma.  I  see  what  is  wrong,  and  hate  it  as 
much  as  ever ;  but  I  am  uncertain  what  to  do  in  my  own 
case.  /  should  not  be  a  hard  master ;  my  servants  will  be 
happy,  —  perhaps  more  so  than  if  I  free  them." 

"  Dare  you  trust  yourself  with  the  possession  of  absolute 
power  over  the  lives,  and  persons,  and  destinies,  of  your  fel- 
low-men ?  Dare  you  incur  the  temptations  which  follow  in 
the  track  of  this  usurpation  of  authority,  which  God  never 
meant  one  man  to  have  over  another  ?  Who  ever  did  so  and 
came  out  from  the  trial  unscathed  ?  If  you  dare  do  it,  I 
dare  not.  I  shall  free  my  negroes  as  soon  as  they  become 
legally  mine." 

"  I  supposed  you  would  do  so,"  replied  Walter  ;  "  but  what 
will  you  then  do  ?  —  you  will  be  left  penniless.  Pardon  m 
the  uncivil  question,"  he  added,  coloring  violently.  "  I  shall 
of  course,  be  most  happy  to  have  you  share  my  home,  when 
I  get  one  in  which  to  receive  you,"  and  he  glanced  towards 
Mabel. 

"  Thank  you,  Walter,"  said  Ida,  quietly ;  "  but  I  shall  bo 
dependent  upon  no  one.  I  have  already  made  arrangements 
V)  teach  school.  I  have  some  warm  friends  at  the  north,  who 


282  I  I»  A     MAY. 

will  assist  me  in  providing  for  my  servants  when  we  arrive 
there.  I  suppose  the  sale  of  the  land  will  be  sufficient  to 
establish  them,  and  then,  with  health  and  education,  I  do  not 
fear  but  I  can  support  myself." 

Walter  looked  at  the  slight  form  and  youthful  face  of  the 
speaker,  and  was  half  astonished  at  her  energy,  half  annoyed 
at  the  idea  of  any  one  in  whom  he  felt  interested  being  com- 
pelled to  work  for  a  living.  He  had  been  brought  up  in  the 
false  ideas  on  this  subject  which  prevail  everywhers  in  a  slave 
country,  and  he  had  yet  to  learn  the  dignity  and  beauty  of 
labor. 

"  Yet  it  will  be  a  great  sacrifice,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  think 
you  have  given  sufficient  thought  to  the  subject,  to  know  all 
it  will  cost  you  ?  " 

"  0,  yes ! "  replied  she,  and  her  tone  was  a  little  sad.  "  I 
have  counted  the  cost,  and  the  only  part  I  shall  dread  to  pay 
is  the  risk  I  encounter  of  losing  the  friendship  of  this  family, 
who  have  been  so  kind  to  me.  I  know  I  shall  offend  their 
strongest  prejudices." 

"  Not  mine  !  —  you  surely  do  not  fear  losing  my  friendship, 
by  this  act  of  self-sacrifice ! "  said  Walter,  in  a  tone  so 
earnest  that  Ida's  heart  thrilled  with  a  strange  emotion. 

"  I  will  not  fear,  after  this  morning,"  she  replied ;  "  aid, 
perhaps,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  your  aid  in  the  matter.  1 
do  not  expect  much  help  from  Mr.  Wynn." 

"  No,  he  will  only  cast  obstacles  in  your  way,"  said  Walter 
'  and  if  you  escape  serious  annoyance  you  will  be  fortunate 
It  will  be  '  braving  the  lion  in  his  den.'  " 


IDA     MAI.  285 

"  I.  know  i  — I  dread  it  a  little.  Mr.  Wynn  is  formida- 
ble when  he  it  offended. " 

"  And,  after  all,  Ida,  it  is  doultful  if  those  miserable  crea- 
tures will  be  able  to  take  care  of  themselves,  or  happier  for 
the  change." 

"  Perhaps  the  oldest  and  most  degraded  will  not  be,"  replied 
[da  ;  "  but  you  must  remember  that  it  is  not  these  few  alone 
whom  I  shall  benefit.  I  am  giving  liberty,  and  a  chance  for 
improvement,  to  their  children,  and  their  children's  children, 
to  remotest  generations  !  "  and,  as  she  spoke,  her  eyes  kindled 
and  dilated,  as  if  she  was  already  looking,  through  the  coming 
years,  upon  the  countless  host  who  should  arise  to  call  her 
blessed. 

"  Still,"  persisted  her  companion,  "  the  benefits  are  distant 
and  uncertain,  and  it  is  with  the  present  you  have  to  do. 
The  same  results  may  be  brought  about  in  some  other  way,  if 
you  wait ;  and  you  seem  so  young  and  fragile,  to  cast  your- 
self so  boldly  on  the  world,  and  to  brave  '  the  slings  and 
arrows  of  outrageous  fortune.'  You  are  treading  a  toilsome 
and  dangerous  path,  and  you  must  tread  it  alone." 

"  0,  no  !  "  said  Ida,  roused  by  this  continued  discourage- 
ment, "  0,  no,  I  am  not  alone !  Those  who  tread  this  path- 
way may  be  so  few  and  far  between,  that  each  one  may  seem 
to  be  the  first ;  but  yet,  many  have  preceded  me,  and  many 
units  make  a  multitude,  you  know,  Walter.  I  suppose  that 
in  some  places,  at  least,  we  each  of  us  leave  '  foot-prints  on 
the  sands  of  Time,  though  the  work  of  each  one  seems  sc 
little  It  is  a  comfort  to  know  that,  though  individual  trace," 


Z04  IDA    MAT 

may  be  lost,  the  tramp  of  passing  generations  will  wear  a 
broad  and  permanent  pathway,  on  which  those  who  come  after 
may  march  into  the  '  new  kingdom,  wherein  dwelleth  righ 
teousness,'  that,  we  are  assured,  shall  one  day  be  established 
on  this  globe  of  ours.  You  see,"  she  added,  smiling  at  her 
own  earnestness,  "  that  I  have  great  hopes  of  our  race,  and 
for  myself  I  do  not  fear.  I  can  work,  if  I  am  little." 

Walter's  eyes  were  beaming  with  admiration,  as  they  rested 
on  her.  Her  self-abnegation,  her  earnest  faith,  her  courage, 
impressed  him  deeply.  Her  words  seemed  to  melt  the  ice  of 
worldliness  and  selfishness  that  had  gathered  about  him.  and 
awaken  to  new  life  all  his  heart's  best  impulses. 

But,  unconsciously,  she  had  raised  her  tone  a  little,  and 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  occupants  of  the  bay-window. 

"  Your  little  friend  seems  to  be  very  much  in  earnest,'1 
said  Col.  Ross,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mabel,  raising  her  voice  that  her  words 
might  be  audible  to  Ida,  "  Miss  May  has  a  habit  of  inflicting 
little  speeches  and  sermons  upon  her  particular  friends. 
They  are  very  eloquent,  I  can  assure  you." 

"  And  extremely  edifying,  I  have  no  doubt  you  meant  to 
add,"  rejoined  Ida,  pleasantly. 

Mabel  laughed,  —  one  of  her  short,  malicious  laughs,  that 
expressed  more  than  words,  —  but  Walter,  shooting  an  indig- 
nant glance  from  under  his  frowning  brows,  retorted, 

"  No  doubt  Miss  Ida,  like  all  generous  persons,  sometimes 
forgets  the  ancient  proverb,  —  which  I  will  not  repeat,  since 
it  is  more  forcible  tha  a  elegant." 


IDA     MAY  285 

"  About  casting  pearls  before  swine,  I  suppose.  Thank 
you,"  said  Mabel,  haughtily,  with  a  withering  glance. 

"  Lest  they  turn  again,  and  rend  you"  added  Walter, 
with  emphasis. 

"  What  is  all  ihis  about  ?  "  exclaimed  Col.  Boss,  looking 
from  one  clouded  face  to  the  other,  with  great  astonishment. 
He  was  not  very  quick-witted,  and  not  very  familiar  with  the 
book  whence  this  allusion  was  drawn. 

"  Walter  seems  to  be  annoyed  with  my  innocent  remark," 
said  Mabel,  recovering  herself. 

Just  then  Mr.  Wynn  entered,  and  the  conversation  after- 
wards became  general,  until  they  were  called  to  dinner. 

Dinner  was  ended,  and  Col.  Ross,  having  ordered  his  car- 
riage, was  about  to  depart,  when  a  messenger  came  to  say 
that  the  boys  sent  with  the  plants  had  returned. 

"  Where  is  Alfred  ? "  asked  Mr.  Wynn. 

"  Alfred  say,  massa,  he  done  come  back ;  say,  ef  dere  a'n't 
nothin'  else,  he  like  mighty  well  go  to  bed,  'case  he  a'n't  so 
bery  well." 

"  Tell  him  I  want  to  see  him  a  moment  in  the  library,  and 
then  he  may,"  was  the  reply ;  but  Ida  noticed  an  ominous 
compression  of  those  thin  lips,  and  an  unwonted  sternness  in 
the  tone  with  which  those  simple  words  were  uttered,  and  her 
fears  were  at  once  aroused.  In  an  instant  she  thought  of  the 
bad  face  of  the  man  who  had  been  closeted  there  with  Mr. 
Wynn  in  the  morning,  and  she  was  impressed  with  the  idea 
that  Alfred's  secret  was  discovered.  As  soon  as  she  could 
escape  from  the  room  unnoticed,  after  Col.  Ross'  prolonged 


2bt>  I  U  A     MA*. 

leave-taking,  she  hastened  to  Maum  Abby's  room.  But  it 
was  empty.  Alfred  was  already  in  the  library,  and  Ida 
returned  just  in  time  to  see  Mr.  Wynn  enter,  and  shut  the 
door  carefully  behind  him. 

Locking  the  door  as  he  shut  it,  —  an  action  that  startled 
Alfred  not  a  little,  —  Mr.  Wynn  walked  to  the  fireplace, 
and,  turning  round,  put  his  hands  behind  him,  straightened 
himself  firmly  on  his  feet,  and  fixed  his  eyes,  without  speaking, 
upon  Alfred,  who  was  standing  near  him,  by  the  table.  We 
have  before  said  that  few  could  endure  the  peculiar  stare  with 
which  he  expressed  displeasure ;  and,  least  of  any,  could  the 
man  who  now  stood  before  him,  burdened  by  the  weight  of  a 
secret  that  involved  all  he  held  dear  in  life.  He  cast  down 
his  eyes,  shifted  himself  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  changed 
his  position,  played  nervously  with  the  cap  he  held  in  his 
hand,  and,  at  last,  unable  longer  to  endure  this  silent  torture, 
he  said,  respectfully,  "  Dick  said  you  wanted  me,  sir." 

"  I  did  want  you.  Give  an  account  of  yourself.  Where 
were  you  last  night  ?  " 

Alfred  started  visibly  at  this  question,  and,  through  his 
dark  skin,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  every  particle  of  blood 
receded  from  his  face.  Twice  he  essayed  to  speak,  and  his 
lips  seemed  too  rigid  to  form  the  words  he  would  have  said. 
He  knew,  from  his  master's  whole  manner,  that  disguise  was 
useless,  —  that,  through  some  unknown  channel,  his  secret 
plans  had  been  conveyed  to  the  ear  that  should  never  have 
heard  them ;  to  the  heart  that  would  know  no  pity.  Nerving 
himself  at  length  to  meet  his  fate,  he  looked  up,  and,  with  an 


IDA     MAY.  287 

effort  at  calmness,  he  replied,  firmly,  but  still  respectfully, 
"  I  went  to  see  my  wife,  sir." 

"  Who  is  your  wife  ? "  said  Mr.  "Wynn,  with  a  sneering 
emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

"  Elsie  Neilore,"  replied  Alfred. 

';  Did  I  not  command  you,  three  years  ago,  to  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  her,  or  any  of  her  family  I "  said  Mr.  Wynn. 
And  then,  as  his  companion  did  not  reply,  he  went  on,  with 
increasing  excitement,  "  And  now  is  not  this  just  what  I  told 
you  would  be  the  consequence  of  associating  with  them  ?  You 
have  grown  sulky  and  discontented,  and  full  of  notions  that 
ought  to  have  been  whipped  out  of  you  long  ago,— but  I  have 
been  foolishly  indulgent,  —  and  to-night  you  were  going  to 
steal  my  best  horse,  and  run  away,  were  you  ?  You  ungrate- 
ful dog  !  is  this  the  way  you-  pay  me  for  all  1  have  done  for 
you  ?  " 

Alfred  was  proud  and  high-spirited,  and,  in  the  desperation 
of  his  circumstances,  he  could  no  longer  restrain  the  burning 
words  that  were  struggling  for  utterance,  like  the  lava  in  a 
pent  volcano. 

"  What  have  you  done  for  me  ? "  he  exclaimed,  lifting 
himself  proudly.  "  A  mighty  debt  I  owe  you,  sir,  but  not  of 
gratitude  !  What  have  you  done  for  me  ?  You  made  me  a 
plaything  in  childhood !  You  fed  and  dressed  me  well,  be- 
cause you  like  to  see  fat  and  neat-looking  servants  about  you ! 
You  educated  me  just  enougn  to  suit  your  own  purposes,  and 
then  rudely  checked  my  craving  for  further  knowledge !  What 
•25 


28«  IDA     MAJ  . 

more  did  you  do?     You  persecuted   .QC  girl  I  loved,  and 
insulted  me  by  offering  me  another  weinan.in  her  place  —  " 

"  Silence !  "  thundered  Mr.  Wynn,  stamping  his  foot  on  the 
floor. 

"  I  will  not  be  silent !  —  I  will  speak  now,  if  I  die  for  it ! ' 
cried  Alfred.  "Twenty-five  years  I  have  served  you  faith  • 
fully  ;  and  because  your  oppressions  at  last  made  me  sad  and 
gloomy,  you  have  scolded  and  threatened  me.  You  did  not 
like  it  because  the  man  you  had  wronged  would  not  sing  and 
smile,  as  well  as  work  for  you,  —  because  I  had  a  human 
heart  in  my  bosom,  because  God  made  me  with  the  same 
wishes  and  powers  that  he  gives  the  white  man  —  " 

"  You  insolent  puppy  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Wynn ;  "  dare  you 
talk  that  way  to  me  !  —  to  me !  your  master  ?  You  talk  of 
being  wronged!  You'll  find  I  have  a  way  to  take  these 
notions  out  of  your  head,  you  impudent  nigger !  You  shall 
be  tied  up  and  flogged  before  all  the  people  in  the  place 
I  '11  take  the  conceit  out  of  you,  if  I  take  all  the  skin  off  your 
back  first." 

Alfred  shivered  from  head  to  foot  as  if  with  deadly  cold. 
He  knew  this  was  no  unmeaning  threat.  But  his  eye  quailed 
not  as  he  answered :  "  For  your  own  sake,  sir,  be  careful 
what  you  do  to  me.  I  cannot  bear  what  some  can.  I  have 
not  been  degraded  quite  to  the  condition  of  a  beast,  and  I 
have  the  feelings  of  a  man.  I  tell  you  I  could  not  bear  it, 
though  I  know  some  can.  It  would  ruin  me.  I  should  be 
either  an  idiot  or  crazy." 

"  You  had  better  be  crazy  01  an  id^  t  tnan  sucn  a  re-be. 


IE  A    MAY.  289 

lious,  impudent  scoundrel  as  you  are  now  "  said  Mr.  Wynu. 
His  voice  was  terribly  calm  and  cold.  His  anger  had 
reached  the  point  where  all  outward  demonstration  ceases. 

Alfred  made  a  step  forward,  and  raised  his  hand  a  little. 

"  Twenty-five  years  have  I  served  you,"  he  said,  "  and 
never  a  lash  has  fallen  oa  my  back ;  and,  mark  me,  sir,  never 
a  lash  shall  fall  there  !  I  have  escaped  that  disgrace  and 
torture,  and  I  never  will  endure  it,  —  never ! ' 

As  he  spoke  these  last  words,  Mr.  Wynn  also  stepped  for- 
ward, and,  seizing  a  small  riding-whip  that  lay  on  the  table, 
struck  a  sudden,  stinging  blow  directly  across  Alfred's  face, 
cutting  the  skin  slightly  from  his  eye  to  his  chin.  Alfred 
caught  it  in  his  hands,  as  it  was  descending  a  second  time,  and 
twisting  it  from  his  master's  grasp,  broke  it  in  three  pieces, 
threw  it  over  Mr.  Wynn's  shoulder  into  the  fire,  and  sprang 
to  the  window.  There  was  a  momentary  delay  in  undoing 
the  lock,  which  was  fastened ;  and,  seizing  an  oaken  chair, 
Mr.  Wynn  made  one  bound  across  the  floor  a  heavy  blow 
descended,  and  Alfred  was  stretched  senseless  on  the  carpet. 
At  the  same  instant,  a  wild  shriek  ran  through  the  house, —  u 
prolonged  cry  of  anguish  and  despair,  which  curdled  the  blood 
of  every  listener, —  and  Maum  Abby  rushed  through  the  half- 
opened  window  into  the  room.  Stooping  down  she  raised  the 
lifeless  form  and  laid  the  head  tenderly  on  her  bosom. 

"  My  boy  !  my  boy  !  "  she"  said,  in  a  low  tone ;  "  it  is  ended 
then  at  last,  —  it  is-  all  over,  —  and  it  has  come  to  this ! ' 
and.  after  those  words,  she  spoke  not  again  during  all  tho 
scene  which  followed. 


290  IDA     MAT. 

The  hear  7  fal,  the  scream,  the  crash  of  the  breaking  glass 
brought  al.  the  family  to  the  spot.  Mr.  Wynn  heard  then 
coming,  and  he  '.unlocked  the  door  and  threw  it  open.  Mrs. 
Wynn  was  the  first  who  entered.  Starting  back  at  the  sight 
which  met  her  view,  she  gave  her  husband  a  look  of  terrified 
inquiry.  He  answered  it  as  if  she  had  spoken. 

"  It  means  that  I  had  discovered  Alfred  to  have  been  pur- 
suing a  course  of  deception  and  disobedience  for  three  years, 
and  I  taxed  him  with  it.  He  was  impudent,  and  I  struck 
him.  He  attempted  to  escape,  and  I  felled  him  to  the  floor 
with  the  same  blow  which  you  see  has  demolished  mv 
window." 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  exclaimed  Ida,  pale  with  horror. 

"  No,  he  is  not  dead,"  said  Walter,  who  was  bending  over 
the  senseless  form.  "  He  is  not  dead,  —  he  is  stunned  and 
hurt,  doubtless;  but  his  heart  beats  yet.  Bring  water  — 
take  off  his  neckcloth  and  loosen  his  clothes.  Aunt  Emma, 
you  had  better  take  his  mother  away.  This  is  no  place  for 
her." 

His  rapid  commands  were  obeyed,  but  Maura  Abby 
silently  refused  to  leave  her  son,  and  none  insisted  that  she 
should.  Some  time  elapsed  before  life  and  reason  came  back 
to  Alfred's  benumbed  senses  and  bewildered  brain ;  but  at 
length  he  breathed  freely,  and  sat  up  on  the  floor  unaided, 
save  by  his  mother's  arm,  that  lightly  supported  his  head  as 
she  stood  behind  him.  Then,  as  the  servants  and  the  ladies 
withdrew  a  little,  Mr.  Wynn  came  forward  from  the  fireplace 
where  he  had  ooked  on  without  speaking,  while  they  were 


IDA    MAY.  291 

endeavoring  to  restore  him  ;  and,  standing  directly  before  the 
helpless  man,  he  said,  glancing  to  the  servants  and  pointing 
to  Alfred  as  he  spoke  : 

"You  all  see  this  fellow  —  you  all  know  how  little  cause 
of  complaint  he  has  had,  for  he  has  been  treated  better  than 
any  of  you.  Now,  listen.  This  fellow  was  not  content  with 
being  sulky  and  disobedient,  but  he  was  intending  to-night  to 
steal  one  of  my  horses,  and  run  away  from  this  place.  I  tell 
you  this  that  you  may  know  what  im  ungrateful  dog  he  is, 
and  I  command  every  one  of  you  to  go  down  to  the  quarters 
to-morrow  morning,  and  you  will  see  how  he  will  be  punished. 
Let  it  be  a  lesson  to  you  all.  If  you  do  your  duty  you  shall 
he  treated  well,  but  if  you  are  impudent  and  disobedient  you 
must  suffer  the  consequences,  as  he  will  have  to  do.  You 
remember  what  I  told  you,"  he  added,  turning  to  Alfred,  and 
shaking  him  a  little  by  the  shoulder,  —  "  I  will  do  it !  You 
dared  to  brave  my  power.  You  will  find  it  can  crush 
you." 

He  spoke  in  the  same  tone  of  deadly  vengeance  he  had 
used  in  addressing  his  victim  just  before  he  struck  him,  and 
all  present  felt  that  this  was  no  time  to  appeal  for  mercy. 
The  servants  drew  near  each  other,  and  looked  with  an  air 
of  terror  from  their  master  to  their  offending  companion. 
Walter  leaned  against  the  window  with  his  arms  folded  over  his 
breast  and  his  lips  firmly  compressed,  but  his  eyes  were  fixed 
on  Alfred.  The  ladies  had  withdrawn  a  little  into  the  recess, 
and  Maum  Abby  alone  remained  with  her  son.  For  a  few 
momenta  none  spoke  or  moved.  Every  one  of  the  group 
25* 


292  IDA     MAT. 

seemed  petrified  and  Mr.  Wynn  enjoyed  his  victory  with  a 
stern  and  cruel  triumph. 

Then,  motioning  three  of  the  strongest  negroes  to  approach, 
he  told  them  to  take  Alfred  and  carry  him  up  stairs  to  the 
attic  where  was  a  large  dark  closet,  in  which  he  was  to  be 
confined  through  the  night.  They  obeyed,  and  Alfred,  totter- 
ing feebly  to  his  feet,  allow  ?d  them  to  grasp  his  arms  and 
coat.  Maum  Abby  made  no  useless  opposition.  Only  once, 
as  he  was  rising  from  the  floor,  she  bent  down  and  pressed  her 
pale  lips  to  his  forehead,  and  gazed  a  moment  into  his  face 
with  an  unutterable  expression,  and  then  quirtly  followed  as 
they  led  him  away. 

Mr.  Wynn  followed  also.  As  they  passed  the  hall-door 
Alfred  made  a  violent  effort  to  free  himself  from  their  grasp ; 
but  those  who  held  him  were  strong,  and  their  master's  eye 
was  upon  them,  and  after  a  short  struggle  they  conquered 
him.  Slowly  they  ascended,  until,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
leading  into  the  attic,  they  came  to  a  strong  oaken  door, 
that  opened  into  a  large  closet,  containing  no  window  —  no 
other  door — no  chance  for  escape.  Alfred  looked  into  it. 
and  felt  that  his  doom  was  sealed. 

None  of  the  family  knew  for  what  purpose  this  place  was 
first  constructed,  and  it  had  rarely  been  used  during  the  pres- 
ent generation ;  but  a  more  secure  dungeon  for  a  prisoner 
could  hardly  have  been  made.  The  door  was  very  thick,  and 
secured  by  a  ponderous  lock  that  creaked  savagely  as  Mr. 
Wynn  turned  the  key.  As  they  thrust  Alfred  into  this  cell, 
his  mother  attempted  to  enter  also ;  but  Mr.  Wynn,  with  his 


IDA     MAT.  293 

own  hand  drew  her  back,  shut  the  door,  and  locked  it.  Then, 
withdrawing  the  key,  he  said,  sternly,  "  Go  down,  now,  all  of 
you.  If  I  find  a  person  lingering  about  here,  I  will  have 
him  served  as  Alfred  will  be  served  to-morrow.  Do  you  hear 
—  go  dawn ! "  he  added,  turning  to  Maum  Abby,  who 
remained  leaning  against  the  wall  after  the  others  had  disap- 
peared. 

"  Can  you  have  a  heart  to  bid  me  go  ?  I  am  his  mother .' " 
she  answered,  clasping  her  hands  over  her  heart,  and  lifting 
her  eyed  to  his,  with  an  expression  that  touched  even  his 
stern  nature  in  its  angry  mood,  and,  without  another  word,  he 
left  her. 

The  short  twilight  of  a  winter's  day  was  fading,  and 
through  the  small  windows  everything  looked  dim  and  indis- 
tinct in  the  large  garret ;  and  as  the  heart-broken  woman  felt 
herself  left  there  alone  in  her  great  sorrow,  she  gazed  upon 
the  walls  of  the  closet  as  upon  a  tomb,  where  her  son  was  im- 
mured alive.  Sinking  down  on  the  floor,  she  placed  her  lips 
to  the  crack  at  the  bottom  of  the  door,  and  called  in  a 
loud  whisper,  plaintive  and  thrilling,  — "  Alfred,  my  son  ! 
my  dear  son !  —  I  am  here.  It  is  your  mother,  Alfred !  — 
gpeak  tc  me !  I  will  never  leave  you,  my  son  —  never  !  O, 
Alfred,  speak  just  one  word  to  me  ! "  And  so  on  into  the 
night  were  breathed  out  those  yearning  cries  of  a  mother's 
heart.  And  he  answered  her  once.  The  cold  lips  that 
pressed  the  door  ware  warmed  a  moment  by  a  fevered  breath 
from  within,  and  a  low,  hoarse  tone,  that  she  could  scarce 


294  IDA    MAT. 

recognize,  said  faintly,  "  0,  mother  dear,  pray  for  me,  — 
pray  for  me,  tor  I  feel  that  I  am  going  mad !  " 

Amid  the  gathering  shadows  of  evening,  Walter  and  his 
companions  returned  to  the  parlor.  Mrs.  Wynn  was  weeping 
violently,  but  Ida  was  too  indignant  for  tears.  "Walter  was 
stern  and  silent,  and  neither  of  them  felt  inclined  to  talk  about 
the  scene  they  had  witnessed,  except  Mabel,  who  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief  as  she  threw  herself  back  in  her  cushioned  chair,  and 
glanced,  with  a  surprise  half  real  and  half  affected  at  the 
gloomy  faces  around  her. 

"  Why  are  you  all  so  still  ?  —  has  papa  frightened  you  out 
of  your  wits  ?  "  she  said,  laughing.  "  I  declare,  he  frightened 
me,  though  I  am  pretty  well  used  to  his  moods.  Don't  cry, 
mamma.  For  my  part,  I  feel  relieved  that  the  fuss  is  over. 
I  've  been .  expecting  it  a  mighty  long  while.  Alfred  has 
been  so  cross  and  sulky  that  I  knew  he  was  planning  some 
mischief,  and  I  told  papa  so  some  time  ago." 

"  You,  did !  "  exclaimed  Walter,  his  lip  curling  with  indig- 
nation and  scorn.  "  Did  you  advise  with  your  father  about 
the  punishment  too  ?  " 

"  Really,  Cousin  Walter,  you  are  getting  to  be  a  perfect 
bear  !  "  said  Mabel,  pouting  her  lips.  "  When  you  first  came 
home,  I  thought  you  had  become  quite  civilized  and  tame ; 
but  for  the  last  week  you  have  shown  as  much  brusquerie,  as 
in  the  days  of  your  youth  when  you  and  I  were  always 
quarrelling.  What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  going  on  so  —  and 
to  me  ?  " 

She  dropped  her  voice  a  little,  with  a  tender  accent  on  the 


IDA     MAT.  295 

last  woi  is,  and  gazed  at  him  out  of  her  fine  eyes  with  a 
grieved  and  reproachful  expression,  that  would,  a  short  time 
since,  have  melted  his  heart  within  him.  But  now  he  was 
almost  startled  to  find  that  her  power  over  him  was  gone. 
Her  careless  and  heartless  words  had  shocked  him  too 
severely,  and,  without  answering  her,  he  turned  to  speak  to 
[da.  But  Ida  had  vanished,  and  he  §at  down  by  his  aunt, 
with  whose  grief  he  felt  great  sympathy.  Mabel  looked  after 
him  with  a  sly  smile,  and  a  strange  expression.  She  was 
beginning  to  weary  of  Walter.  His  grand  airs  and  abrupt  ex- 
pressions did  not  accord  with  the  admiration  and  flattery  she 
expected  from  her  admirers,  and  the  respect  with  which  he 
listened  to  Ida's  absurd  opinions,  suited  her  still  less;  but  sho 
was  determined  he  should  not  withdraw  from  her  until  she 
saw  fit  to  cast  him  off,  and  therefore  she  assumed  an  anxious, 
grieved  look,  whenever  her  eyes  met  his,  and  played  the 
amiable  so  perfectly,  that  his  feelings  changed,  and  he  began 
to  hate  himself  for  the  severity  he  had  manifested  towards 
her. 

Mr.  Wynn  had  stopped  a  moment  at  the  parlor-door,  as  he 
descended  from  the  attic,  to  say  that  he  wished  his  tea  sent 
into  the  library,  and  to  request  that  none  of  the  family  would 
go  near  the  closet  where  Alfred  was  confined.  Mabel  had  no 
disposition  to  disobey  him,  and  Mrs.  Wynn  was  afraid  ;  but 
a  gloom  hung  over  tho  whole  household ;  the  tea  was  almost 
untasted,  and  at  an  early  hour  they  separated. 

Walter,  having  gone  to  his  chamber  for  a  book,  returned  tc 
the  deserted  parlor,  and  trimmed  the  fir  3,  but  he  could  not  read 


296  IDA     MAY. 

In  vain  ho  strove  to  divert  his  mind  from  the  serious  and 
perplexing  thoughts  that  filled  it ;  and,  after  a  while,  he  gave 
up  the  effort,  and,  walking  slowly  across  the  floor,  he  reflected 
deeply,  —  more  deeply  than  ever  before,  —  upon  his  present 
position  and  his  future  life.  As  he  paced  to  and  fro  in 
deej.  revery,  the  door  opened,  and  Ida  appeared.  The  light 
which  she  held  in  her  hand  showed  he:  pale,  troubled  face,  and 
her  eyes  red  with  weeping. 

She  set  the  lamp  upon  the  table,  as  he  came  near,  and 
looked  up  at  him  as  if  about  to  speak,  but  he  interrupted 
her. 

"  0,  Ida !  "  said  he,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  is  from  this  you  are 
going  to  redeem  your  servants ;  from  this  you  are  going  to 
free  yourself.  I  envy  you.  This  is  a  dreadful  life,  —  so 
beset  with  temptations,  so  full  of  responsibility !  " 

"  And  you,  —  you  also  may  be  released  from  it,"  replied 
she. 

"  I !  ah  no  !  I  am  not  decided  in  purpose,  as  you  are," 
said  Walter.  "  I  am  not  free  to  act.  I  am  completely  tram- 
melled. Mabel  would  never  consent  to  it." 

"  And  you  love  her !  "  said  Ida,  almost  inaudibly. 

"  I  am  engaged  to  her,"  was  the  reply. 

Ida  looked  down  in  confusion.  The  words  had  fallen  from 
her  lips  unconsciously,  and  his  engagement  with  Mabel  was  not 
a  subject  on  which  she  wished  to  converse  with  him.  He- 
covering  herself  in  a  moment,  however,  she  said  quietly,  "  It 
was  not  of  this  I  came  to  speak,  and  we  have  not  time  to  talk 
of  it  now  0,  Walter!  cannot  something  be  done  for  Alfred  ? 


- 

IDA     MAY.  297 

It  will  kill  him,  and  iiis-  mother,  too,  if  that  threat  is  carried 
out,  I  have  urged  your  Aunt  Emma  to  intercede  for  him  ; 
but  she  is  too  much  afraid,  and  despairs  of  availing  anything. 
Perhaps  she  would  not ;  bu*  cannot  you  ?  " 

The  color  went  and  came  in  Walter's  face,  as  he  replied 
"I  am  the  least  likely  to  succeed  of  any  in  this  house ; 
my  uncle  has  always  delighted  to  oppose  me  in  everything. 
I  should  only  make  matters  worse  by  my  interference." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  urged  Ida. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  dare  not,"  replied  he.  "  Not  that  I  f;.ar 
my  uncle,  but  I  fear  myself.  When  I  am  excited,  I  carxiot 
control  my  words ;  and  I  feel  now  that,  if  I  opened  my  lips,  a 
torrent  would  flow  forth.  And  0,  Ida !  "  he  added)  after  a 
little  pause,  u  what  am  I,  that  I  should  reproach  him l  Am 
not  I,  too,  '  verily  guilty  concerning  my  brother  ? '  Have 
I  not,  these  three  years,  been  leaving  my  people  in  his  care, 
and  in  the  hands  of  a  hired  overseer  ?  How  many  such  trage 
dies  may  have  been  acted,  of  which  I  know  nothing !  No, 
Ida,  it  will  not  do  for  me  to  talk  with  my  uncle  on  this  matter." 

"  Then  I  will  go  myself,"  replied  the  girl,  drawing  up  her 
plight  figure,  while  her  face  lighted  with  a  sudden  courage 
and  hope, 

"  Go,  and  God  be  with  you !  "  said  Walter,  as  she  turned 
away.  His  eyes  rested  on  her,  as  she  left  the  room,  with  a 
strange  feeling  of  admiration  and  pain.  He  could  not  avoid 
comparing  the  earnestness  and  purity  and  sweet  womanly 
grace  of  her  character,  with  the  cold  selfishness  which  Mabel 
bad  continually  manifested  where  he  had  seen  her  brought  in 


298  IDA     MAT. 

contact  with  others.  Among  the  many  thoughts  which  had 
burdened  him  that  evening,  not  a  few  had  been  of  his  connec- 
tion with  Mabel.  Among  the  many  faults  with  which  he  had 
taxed  himself,  he  was  not  least  severe  upon  the  hastiness  he 
had  shown  in  his  rapid  wooing,  and  the  fickleness  of  which  ho 
might  be  accused,  could  any  one  know  how  the  fervency  of 
his  love  had  worn  away  within  the  last  week ;  how  the  glory 
that  surrounded  his  idol  with  a  dazzling  halo  had  paled  and 
faded,  until,  now,  her  very  beauty  no  longer  charmed  him,  so 
plainly  could  he  see  the  deformity  beneath.  He  had  accused 
himself  of  harshness  and  inconstancy  towards  one  whose  fault? 
were,  perhaps,  only  the  effect  of  her  position  and  education, 
and,  in  a  repentant  mood,  he  had  checked  eve"n  his  purest  im- 
pulses, lest  they  should  become  sins  against  one  to  whom  he 
considered  himself  pledged  in  honor ;  none  the  less,  that,  by 
her  own  desire,  he  had  refrained  from  obtaining  her  father's 
consent  to  their  union. 

"  In  what  a  maze  of  perplexity  have  I  involved  myself !  " 
exclaimed  he,  as  he  resumed  his  restless,  pacing  to  and  fro. 
Fool !  fool !  that  I  was !  A  fair  face  and  a  tender  voice  have 
made  me  mad  and  blind !  " 

Ida  tapped  once  or  twice  at  the  library  door,  and  when  a 
voice  said,  "  Come  in,"  she  entered.  The  close  wooden  shut- 
ters were  fastened  over  the  broken  window,  and  the  heavy 
curtains  drawn  tight,  to  keep  out  the  cold  air.  A  study  lamp 
burned  on  the  table,  and  a  bright  fire  of  pine  knots  and  oak 
wood  flared  in  the  chimney.  The  air  of  cosey  comfort,  the 


IDA     MAT.  299 

warm  glow  that  pervaded  the  room,  contrasted  strangely  with 
the  scene  enacted  there  a  few  hours  before.  Seating  herself 
in  the  chair  to  which  Mr.  Wynn  pointed  her,  by  the  table 
opposite  him,  Ida  remained  a  few  moments  without  speaking. 
Then,  although  her  heart  was  burning  with  grief  and  indigna- 
tion, she  said,  in  a  very  respectful  and  submissive  tone,  "  I 
have  ventured  to  intrude  upon  your  quiet,  that  I  may  beg 
you  to  abate  Alfred's  punishment  — " 

"  I  beg  you  will  desist  from  this  entreaty,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Wynn,  waving  his  hand  with  a  courteous  gesture.  "  1 
never  threaten  in  vain.  He  must  endure  his  punishment." 

"  0,  Mr.  Wynn,  I  fear  it  will  kill  his  mother !  "  said  Ida. 
"  If  he  has  done  wrong,  he  has  surely  suffered  for  it.  Can 
you  not  be  persuaded  to  relent  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  foreseeing  this  crisis  for  some  time,"  replied 
her  companion,  "  but  have  delayed  provoking  it  until  the  last 
possible  moment,  through  consideration  for  his  mother,  who 
has  been  a  very  faithful  servant,  and  to  whom  Mrs.  Wynn  is 
much  attached.  But,  now  it  has  come,  it  must  be  gone 
through  with.  It  will  be  better  for  him  — " 

"  0,  sir,"  exclaimed  Ida,  "  think  of  the  disgrace  and  the  tor- 
tare ! " 

"  Still,"  persisted  Mr.  Wynn,  in  the  same  calm  manner, 
"  still,  I  say,  it  would  be  better  for  him.  If  I  yield  one  iota- 
while  he  is  but  half  subdued,  I  shall  lose  the  benefit  of  what 
is  past,  and  he  will  grow  refractory  again,  presuming  upon 
my  forbearance.  I  must  go  on  firmly,  and  break  down  his 
absurd  feelings  of  independence.  It  is  painful  and  annoying 
26 


800  IDA     MAT. 

to  all  of  us,  and  I  should  hardly  have  expectul  thai  Alfred 
would  have  subjected  my  family  to  this  trial ;  but,  after  it  is 
once  over,  I  do  not  fear  a  repetition  of  it.  I  seldom  have 
more  than  one  trouble  of  this  kind  with  my  servants.  You 
spoke  of  the  disgrace ;  but,  my  dear  young  lady,  it  is  no  dis- 
grace to  a  negro  to  be  whipped,  and  is  not  considered  so  by 
any  of  them  who  have  right  ideas  respecting  themselves.  It 
might  disgrace  a  white  man,  but  it  is  the  proper  punishment 
for  a  colored  person." 

"  What  makes  the  difference  ?  "  asked  Ida,  quietly. 

"  The  difference  is,  that  white  men,  not  being  held  as  prop- 
erty, are  amenable  personally  to  the  laws  of  the  State,  and  can 
expiate  their  crimes  by  imprisonment.  But  we  have  no  such 
recourse  for  our  servants.  It  would  ruin  us  to  lose  the  time 
it  would  take  to  imprison  them  in  punishment  for  their 
offences ;  and,  beside,  the  lazy  dogs  would  not  mind  confine- 
ment that  released  them  from  their  accustomed  tasks.  So 
we  have  no  alternative  but  to  whip  them;  for  we  must 
keep  them  in  subjection.  You  see  it  makes  quite  a  differ 
ence." 

"  Quite  a  difference  ! "  said  Ida. 

"  For  that  reason,"  continued  Mr.  Wynn,  "  whipping  ba? 
always  been  the  established  punishment  for  servants,  and 
•4hey  all  expect  it;  indeed,  they  rather  like  it.  They  altars 
oem  to  think  more  of  a  master  who  keeps  them  up  pretty 
well.  Of  course,  I  don't  mean  one  who  is  too  severe,  — 
who  — " 

"  Abuses  them,"  suggested  Ida,  as  he  paused  an  instant. 


IDA    MAY.  301 

•'  Yes,  that 's  it ;  they  don't  want  to  be  abused,  of  course ; 
but  no  negro,  who  is  not  above  his  place,  thinks  it  a  disgrace 
to  be  whipped ;  and  the  very  fact  that  Alfred  thinks  it  so,  and 
spoke  of  it  in  that  way,  only  confirms  me  in  the  opinion  that 
it  will  be  the  very  best  thing  for  him  to  have.  There  is  no 
kindness  in  allowing  them  to  have  too  high  notions ;  it  only 
makes  them  discontented." 

"But  think  how  dreadful  it  will  be!  0,  Mr.  Wynn,  I 
don't  believe  he  can  bear  it !  He  is  of  a  more  excitable  and 
nervous  organization  than  some;  and  I  don't  believe  he 
will  go  through  with  it  without  losing  his  reason  or  his  life." 

"  Let  him  lose  them,  then! "  said  Mr.  Wynn,  with  emphatic 
sternness.  "  A  dead  nigger  is  better  than  a  disobedient 
one." 

"  After  all,  what  has  been  this  man's  crime  ?  "  exclaimed 
Ida,  too  much  exasperated  to  retain  her  calmness  longer. 
'  He  loved  a  woman  whom  he  was  not  allowed  to  live  with 
openly,  and  so  he  met  her  clandestinely.  Is  that  such  a 
very  dreadful  sin  ?  Would  you  not  have  done  it  yourself  ? 
Would  not  any  man  of  right  feelings  have  clung  to  the 
woman  who  loved  him,  in  spite  of  all  persecution  ?  He  was 
never  unfaithful  to  you ;  he  did  all  your  work,  and  would 
have  done  it  cheerfully,  if  continued  opposition  to  his  wishes 
had- not  made  him  unhappy.  0,  sir,  he  is  your  servant;  but 
is  he  not  also  a  human  being,  and  has  he  not  rights  on  which 
you  have  trampled  ?  n 

"  I  beg  you  will  desist  from  this  language,"  said  Mr. 
Wynn.  "  A  servant  has  no  rights,  except  such  as  hia 


802  IDA     MAT. 

master  ob  Doses  to  allow.  Alfred's  connection  with  that  woman 
was  not  his  only  offence.  He  was  planning  to  escape  to  the 
north.  That  is  a  design  which  I  can  never  pardon.  The 
severest  punishment  is  not  too  great  for  it." 

But  you  know,  Mr.  Wynn,  that  he  has  repeatedly  asked 
you  to  allow  him  to  buy  himself.  He  tried  every  honorable 
means  before  he  came  to  this  last  desperate  resort.  0,  sir, 
can  you  blame  him  that  he  desired  to  be  free  ?  It  must  bo 
hard  for  a  man  like  him  to  realize  that  he  must  spend  all 
his  powers  of  mind  and  body  for  the  service  of  another  ;  that 
he  is  to  be  continually  restrained  in  the  exercise  of  his  will 
and  his  affections  by  the  wishes  of  another.  What  man  of 
Alfred's  energy  and  intellect  could  endure  it  ?  And  yet,  for 
this,  you  say  he  must  be  punished !  " 

Mr.  Wynn  had  risen  from  his  chair  while  she  spoke,  and 
now,  from  his  six  feet  altitude,  he  looked  down  upon  the 
daring  little  being,  who  was  uttering  such  incendiary  doctrines 
in  his  ears,  with  a  sort  of  angry  astonishment. 

"  It  is  vain  to  talk  to  me  on  this  subject,"  he  said  at 
length,  after  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  for  some  time. 
"  What  I  have  said,  I  will  do.  No  human  power  shall  inter- 
fere with  my  family  discipline.  Alfred  has  been  impudent 
and  refractory,  and  he  shall  be  punished,  if  I  knew  he  would 
die  under  the  lash." 

Ida  looked  earnestly  in  his  face  as  he  spoke  these  words 
He  did  not  seem  excited.  During  the  whole  conversation  ho 
had  not  raised  his  voice,  but  nothing  could  be  more  hopeless 
than  its  cold,  quiet  monotone,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  re< 


r  p  A    MAY.  303 

ienting  in  the  -stern  features  where  every  muscle  seemed 
rigid  as  if  carved  of  stone.  But  Ida  did  not  quail  beneath 
those  petrifying  eyes.  Kising  from  her  chair,  she  came  near 
him,  and  said,  with  great  earnestness  and  solemnity, 

"  You  are  about  to  commit  a  great  sin.  Pause,  I  beseech 
you,  before  it  is  too  late  !  Think  what  it  is  to  take  the  life 
or  destroy  the  reason  of  a  fe*low-being.  0,  what  right  have 
you  to  torture  him  ?  Do  you  not  fear  ?  " 

Mr.  Wynn  half  turned  on  his  heel,  with  a  short  disdainful 
laugh. 

"  Fear  .what  ?  "  he  said.     «  That  the  skies  will  fall  ?  " 

"  No,  but  that  the  hour  of  revenge  will  come,"  said  Ida, 
trembling  at  her  own  words.  "  Do  you  not  fear  that  all  this 
anguish,  all  these  wrongs,  will  hasten  an  hour  of  retribution, 
when  the  fearful  debt  shall  be  paid  which  has  been  accumu- 
lating through  so  many  generations  ?  What  shall  hinder  its 
coming  soon,  if  men  like  Alfred  are  driven  to  desperation 
with  persecution  and  torture  ?  " 

For  reply  Mr.  Wynn  crossed  the  room  slowly  and  deliber- 
ately, and  opening  the  door  pointed  into  the  hall.  "Go!" 
he  said ;  "  you  have  spoken  words  that  if  you  were  a  man  you 
should  take  back  at  the  point  of  the  sword.  As  you  are  a 
woman,  I  have  no  alternative  than  to  bid  you  leave  this 
room,  and  beware  how  you  dare  attempt  such  things  in 
this  house.  Go!  "  he  repeated,  in  a  tone  of  such  deep  and 
concentrated  wrath  that  Ida  dared  not  resist,  and  silently  she 
left  him. 

In  the  hall  she  met  Walter,  who  had  anxiously  awaited 
26* 


804  IDA     MAY. 

the  result  of  the  conference,  though  he  had  little  hope  thai 
she  could  effect  anything. 

"  I  see  by  your  face  that  you  have  not  been  successful," 
he  said. 

"  I  hardly  hoped  t<  be,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  could  not 
rest  till  I  had  tried  to  help  him.  0,"  she  added,  wringing 
her  hands  in  bitter  self-reproach,  "  why  was  I  so  faint- 
hearted —  why  did  I  not  warn  him  to  be  more  careful  ?  " 

"  Have  you  known  of  this  before  ?  "  exclaimed  Walter. 

"  I  knew  something,  and  I  could  guess  the  rest,"  replied 
f da ;  and  then  she  told  him  of  the  scene  she  had  witnessed  • 
and  the  words  she  had  overheard  the  day  after  her  arrival, 
the  week  before.  Walter  was  deeply  affected.  In  their  ex- 
citement it  did  not  occur  to  either  of  these  young  persons, 
that  all  this  sympathy  with  a  refractory  servant  was  highly 
dangerous  and  improper,  and  subversive  of  long-established 
institutions. 

Leaving  Walter  after  a  short  time,  Ida  returned  to  her 
own  room.  Maum  Venus  was  sitting  before  the  fire,  soundly 
sleeping,  with  her  head  on  the  table,  and  the  light  footsteps 
of  her  young  mistress  did  not  waken  her,  as  she  hastily 
wrapped  herself  in  a  large,  thick  shawl,  and,  taking  another 
on  her  arm,  again  left  the  chamber,  and  stole  softly  up  stairs 
to  the  place  where  Maum  Abby  was  still  keeping  watch  by 
ner  son.  All  was  dark  and  chilly  in  the  large,  damp  garret, 
and  as  the  light  Ida  carried  fell  over  her  figure,  bent  together 
as  it  was,  and  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands,  she  was  fright- 
ened by  the  stony  silence  and  immobility  of  her  appearance 


(DA     MAY.  30C 

A  slight  movement  and  a  low  moan,  which  came  from  the 
bowed  form  as  Ida  wrapped  around  it  the  shawl  she  had 
brought,  gave  token  of  life  and  reassured  the  trembling  girl, 
and  she  sat  down  on  the  low  step  beside  the  afflicted  woman. 
Looking  up  when  she  felt  the  pressure  of  Ida's  arm  around 
her  neck,  Maum  Abby  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her  in  a  stern 
and  gloomy  manner. 

"  It  is  you,  is  it  ?  "  she  said,  abruptly.  "  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?  Go  down." 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,"  replied  Ida,  gently.  "  I  have  come  to 
stay  with  you  ,  won't  you  let  me  ?  I  could  not  bear  to  think 
of  you  here  aloue." 

Maum  Abby  gazed  at  her  a  few  moments  absently,  as  if 
she  was  trying  to  comprehend  those  simple  words,  but  the 
gloom  of  her  countenance  did  not  relax. 

"  Put  out  the  light,  then,"  she  said,  at  length  ;  "  I  can't 
bear  it,  —  it  hurts  me.  There  should  be  no  light  anywhere , 
all  the  world  should  be  dark,  dark  and  cold,  like  my  life  ! " 

Her  eyes  were  still  fixed  and  stony,  and  her  long,  thin 
finger  pointed  to  the  lamp  with  an  air  of  command.  Ida 
gave  a  half-terrified  glance  into  the  gloom  around  her,  which 
to  her  excited  fancy  seemed  peopled  with  indistinct  forms, 
that  moved  and  glided  with  the  rapid  beatings  of  her  heart ; 
but  she  obeyed  the  request  and  extinguished  the  light.  Those 
elow-moving,  solemn,  distressful  hours !  They  haunted  her 
dreams,  for  years  after,  with  even  more  of  horror  than  she 
felt  while  they  were  passing.  Thoughts  of  all  that  the  strong 
man  armed  with  power  has  dared  to  cb,  and  all  that  tho 


IDA     MAY. 

helpless  have  been  compelled  to  /suffer, —  of  all  the  fearful  his- 
tories that  might  be  connected  with  that  very  spot, — crowded 
upon  her  brain,  until  the  darkness  appeared  to  grow  tangible 
and  gather  around  her  with  a  cold,  stifling  pressure,  like  the 
hands  of  spectres.  The  pattering  of  the  rain  upon  the  roof 
above  them  seemed  like  the  trampling  feet  of  the  vast  mul- 
titude who  might  one  day  come  crying  for  vengeance  on  this 
house,  where,  through  long  generations,  man  had  enslaved 
his  fellow;  and  low  voices  of  wailing  sounded  in  an  undertone 
through  the  monotonous  murmur  of  the  elements.  Ida  shud- 
dered and  drew  nearer  to  her  companion,  exclaiming, 

"  Speak  to  rue,  Maum  Abby ;  it  is  frightful  to  have  you  so 
still  and  cold  !  Don't  feel  as  if  you  were  forsaken  and  had 
none  to  help  you ;  for  One  who  is  stronger  than  the  mightiest 
will  not  forget  you,  even  now.  Who  knows  but  he  will 
deliver  your  son  from  his  pitiless  master  ?  Let  us  pray  to 
him,  let  us  call  upon  him  with  tears,  for  he  has  promised  to 
hear  the  cry  of  tne  needy  and  the  oppressed." 

She  would  have  said  more,  but  Maum  Abby  checked  her, 
flot  harshly,  but  with  a  frigid  quietness,  as  if  she  felt  the 
powerlessness  of  words,  the  fallacy  of  hope. 

"  You  can  pity  me,  you  can  pray  for  tne  !  "  she  said,  "  but 
this  is  no  time  for  talking.  My  soul  is  dried  up  within  me. 
£  have  wept  over  the  graves  of  my  children,  but  I  have  no 
tears  for  this  woe.  This  is  the  hour  of  my  trial,  and  God 
sends  no  angel  to  comfort  me,  only  you,  poor,  kind  little  girl, 
that  cannot  help  me.  He  works  no  bnger  by  miracles,  and 
DOtbing  bi  \  a  miracle  can  save  Alfred.  0  that  I  should 


IJA     MAY.  307 

have  lived  to  see  this  hour,  when  I  have  no  longer  any  faitn 
in  God ! " 

"  '  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth 
them  tha  fear  him,'  "  replied  Ida,  softly.  "  '  He  knoweth 
our  frame  He  remembereth  that  we  are  but  dust.' " 

Maura  Abby  bent  her  face  again  to  her  knees  without  re- 
plying, and  took  no  further  notice  of  her  companion,  who, 
pressing  close  to  her  side,  kept  silent  watch  in  prayer  for 
her.  That  brave,  full  heart  was  conscious  of  its  own  deep 
sympathy,  but  it  availed  little  to  the  stricken  mourner.  Too 
stern  was  the  grasp  of  her  pangs  for  such  solace.  Her  soul 
eat  veiled  in  its  agony,  blind  to  all  without,  and  conscious 
only  of  its  crushed  hopes,  and  a  sickening,  shuddering  sense 
of  the  torture  to  which  her  son  was  doomed  on  the  morrow. 
Afterwards,  when  the  sad  drama  had  been  played  to  its  close, 
and  her  first  fierce  woe  was  past,  the  gentle  touch  of  Ida's 
hand  upon  her  brow  and  neck,  her  few  low-toned  words, 
her  tears  and  her  uttered  sympathy,  came  back  upon  the 
memory  of  the  sufferer  with  a  soothing  and  healing  influence, 
and  she  recognized  the  angel  whom  God  had  sent  to  her ;  but 
now,  through  these  long,  fearful  hours,  she  was  scarcely  con- 
scious of  her  presence. 

An  hour  or  more  had  passed,  when  a  faint  light  was  seen 
glimmering  through  the  dense  darkness  below  them,  and  a 
figure  robed  in  white  swiftly  glided  up  the  stairs.  It  was 
Mrs.  Wynn.  She  knelt  down  before  Maura  Abby,  and 
strove  to  clasp  her  hands,  but  she  drew  them  hastily  away. 

"  0  dear,  dear  Maum   Abby  !  "  she  said,  sobbing,  "  I  do 


BOS  IDA     MAT. 

pity  you  sol  I  do  feel  for  you !  I  stole  away  the  mcment 
oe  was  asleep.  He  told  me  not  to  come,  and  I  did  n't  dare 
to,  lest  he  should  hear  me,  while  he  was  awake.  0, 1  do  pity 
you  so  !  This  is  terrible,  terrible  !  " 

Maum  Abby  raised  her  head  with  the  same  stern  look 
she  had  fixed  upon  Ida. 

"  Go  back  to  your  bed,  Miss  Emma,"  she  said,  authorita- 
tively. "  I  know  you  feel  for  me,  but  you  can't  comfort  me ; 
nobody  can.  I  am  a  poor,  desolate,  old  woman,  and  to-mor- 
row my  only  son  is  going  to  be  whipped  to  death.  He  said 
so.  I  was  listening  at  the  window  and  heard  him,  and  you 
inow  he  never  relents."  She  threw  her  arms  wildly  upward, 
and  cried  out,  "  0  Lord  God,  hear  me  !  How  long,  how  long 
shall  the  wicked  triumph  ?  " 

"  Don't  curse  us !  0,  don't  curse  us ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Wynn,  seizing  her  hands  and  trembling  violently.  "  It  is 
the  fault  of  our  false  and  cruel  position ;  of  our  laws  that 
give  men  unlimited  power  over  their  servants.  He  would 
never  have  been  what  he  is  but  for  that.  0,  Maum  Abby, 
pray  for  us  !  pray  for  him  !  Don't  curse  him  !  " 

"  I  will  try  to  pray  for  him,"  she  replied,  relapsing  into 
her  former  stem,  despairing  calmness ;  "  but  O,  it  is  hard  to 
do  it  now  —  now,  when  the  devil  is  tempting  me  to  curse  God 
and  die.  Go  away,  and  pray  for  him  yourseif,  pray  for  us 
all.  You  can  do  no  good  here.  I  don't  wan't  to  talk 
When  I  talk  I  can't  hear  my  son's  breathing,  and  that  i» 
a1!  I  have  of  him  now  Gc  away,  you  coma  between  me 
and  my  son ! " 


IDA    MAY  30& 

• 

She  spoke  these  last  words  almost  petulantly,  and,  deeply 
grieved,  Mrs.  Wynn  turned  away.  Again  silence  and  dark- 
ness reigned  around  them.  The  rain  fell  with  a  continuous, 
dull,  heavy  plashing  on  the  roof  above  their  heads ;  and 
from  below  there  came  up  through  the  murky  air  the  faint 
ticking  of  the  hall  clock.  No  other  sound  was  heard,  save 
from  the  closet  behind  them,  the  labored  breathing  of  the 
prisoner,  panting  and  broken,  like  the  gasping  of  one  in 
mortal  pain,  and  often  interrupted  by  a  heavy  sob,  or  a 
low  moan,  or  faintly-spoken  prayers.  Thus  the  night  wore 
away. 

Just  before  the  first  gray  dawn  of  morning,  Ida  returned 
to  her  own  room,  and  threw  herself  on  her  bed,  completely 
chilled  and  exhausted.  Soon  a  deep  and  dreamless  slumber 
stole  over  her  wearied  senses;  and  it  was  long  after  the 
usual  breakfast  hour,  when  she  awoke.  Great  was  her 
surprise  when,  on  descending  to  the  breakfast  room,  she 
found  the  servants  just  bringing  in  the  dishes  for  the  morn- 
ing meal,  and  Mabel,  with  a  frowning  brow,  walking  to  and 
fro,  and  giving  directions  in  a  tone  indicative  of  no  slight 
degree  of  vexation. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  you,  Ida  ?  "  she  exclaimed ; 
"  you  look  like  a  ghost.  Could  n't  you  sleep  ;ast  night  ? 
How  mighty  hard  it  rained !  —  it  kept  me  awake  <Jovae  time." 

"I  did  n't  sleep  much,"  replied  Ida ;  "but  it  was  n't  the 

rain  that  prevented  me." 

M 
"  What !  are  you  out  of  sorts  too,  with  all  the  rest  of  tho 

household  ?     I  believe  papa  and  I  arc  the  only  sensible  mem 


310  IDA    M  AY. 

bers  of  the  family.  Here  ma'  has  cried  till  she  has  brought  on 
one  of  her  dreadful  nervous  headaches,  and  can't  leave  her 
bed,  and  Maum  Abby,  who  knows  just  what  to  do  for  her,  is 
sitting  there  moping  about  Alfred,  and  won't  come  and  take 
eare  of  her,  or  see  after  the  servants ;  and  so  everything 
has  gone  wrong  this  morning.  I  declare  this  is  a  world  of 
trouble." 

.  "It  is,  indeed,"  replied  Ida,  with  a  sigh,  her  thoughts 
reverting  to  Maum  Abby  and  her  son  with  such  intensity 
that  she  was  almost  unconscious  of  Mabel's  selfish  application 
of  the  trite  remark. 

"Let  us  have  breakfast,  and  then  I  will  go  away  some 
where.  This  is  getting  intolerable ! "  exclaimed  Walter,  impa 
tiently,  coming  forward  as  he  spoke  from  the  window-recess, 
where  he  had  been  sitting  behind  the  curtain  unobserved. 

"  Et  tu  Brute!  "  said  Mabel,  laughing  and  coloring  a  little 
—  "  which,  being  interpreted,  means,  have  you  been  there  all 
this  time,  Walter,  listening  to  my  scolding  of  the  servants ? 
If  so,  I  expect  you  have  a  most  exalted  idea  of  my  housekeep- 
ing abilities.  Confess,  now,  you  had  no  idea  that  was  one  of 
my  accomplishments.  Don't  you  think  I  could  manage  a 
household  finely  ?  " 

"  Excellently  well,  1  have  no  doubt,  as  far  as  the  discipline 
if  your  servants  was  concerned,"  said  Walter,  dryly.  . 

"  That  is  rather  a  doubtful  compliment,  uttered  in  that 
tone,"  replied  Mabel,  somewhat  disconcerted;  "but  I  will 
impute  its  deficiencies  to  nie  mauvazs  esprit  that  possesses 


t 


r  D  A     MAY.  311 

as  all  tliis  morning ;  and,  as  I  see  papa  coming,  we  will  have 
breakfast,  if  you  please." 

They  gathered  round  the  table,  and  Mabel,  taking  her 
mother's  place,  performed  the  honors  gracefully ;  and  made 
an  effort  at  conversation,  for  which  she  was  rewarded  by  an 
approving  glance  from  her  father;  but  Walter  continued 
absorbed  and  silent,  and  Ida  was  waiting,  in  suppressed 
excitement,  tho  moment  when  Alfred  would  be  brought  forth 
to  his  punishment. 

Suddenly  the  footsteps  of  several  men  were  heard  in  the 
hall,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  little  Dick  came  into  the  room 
where  they  were  sitting,  with  a  message  for  Mr.  Wynn. 

"  Please  massa,  de  oberseer  done  come,  wid  de  niggers  and 
de  handcuff,  for  tote  Alfred  off." 

Mr.  Wynn  took  the  key  of  the  closet  from  his  pocket,  and 
handed  it  to  the  boy.  "  Give  him  this,"  he  said,  "  and  show 
him  where  Alfred  is.  I  will  see  him  on  the  piazza  when  he 
somes  down." 

The  boy  disappeared,  and  a  dead  silence  fell  upon  the 
group  around  the  breakfast-table.  Ida  leaned  back  in  her 
chair,  so  sick  and  faint  with  the  violent  throbbing  of  her 
heart,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  she  sustained  herself.  Wal- 
ter's eyes  were  fixed  on  his  plate,  and  he  was  apparently 
unconscious  that  he  was. gnawing  his  lip,  instead  of  the  piece 
of  meat  he  was  nervously  cutting  and  recutting  into  the  most, 
minute  bits.  Mr.  Wynn  sat  like  an  iron  statue  of  decision 
and  even  Mabel  looked  a  little  p.ale  and  excited. 

Some  moments  elapsed,  and  then  there  was  a  little  confu-  «• 
27 


312  IDA     MAT. 

sion  heard  above  stairs,  a  quick  step  <.  escended,  ai.d  Dick 
again  threw  open  the  door,  exclaiming,  "  0,  massa !  come  dis 
roinute  up  star.  Dat  ar'  Alfred  done  kill  heself ! " 

"  What  do  you  say  ? "  said  Mr.  Wynn,  sternly,  his  face 
growing  a  little  more  rigid  and  white  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  on 
the  child. 

"  Fact,  massa,"  repeated  he ;  "  dat  ar'  Alfred  done  kill 
heself,  —  cut  hole  in  he  troat  and  let  out  all  de  blood.  Done 
shirked  he  whippin'  dis  time,  massa,  anyway." 

Mr.  Wynn  rose  quickly  and  left  the  room.  Walter  lifted 
his  head,  and  his  chest  heaved  with  a  deep  inspiration,  as  if 
a  load  had  been  lifted  from  it,  while  he  exclaimed  fervently, 

"  Thank  God  for  that !  —  he  is  dead  !  " 

"  Why,  Walter !  a'n't  you  ashamed  to  say  so  ? "  said 
Mabel.  "  For  my  part,  I  'm  really  sorry,  for  now  who  will  we 
get  to  build  our  summer-house  ?  My  heart  was  set  upon  hav- 
ing that  before  another  year,  and  there  is  n't  a  workman  any 
where  around  who  was  equal  to  Alfred.  I  'd  rather  have 
nothing  at  all  than  one  of  those"  common  things.  I  say  it  is 
a  downright  shame  for  him  to  kill  himself,  when  it  is  so  incon- 
venient to  lose  him." 

Walter  listened  to  her  with  an  expression  of  utter  astonish- 
ment, which  gave  way  to  indignation  as  she  completed  this 
last  sentence,  and,  with  the  bluntness  that  characterized  him 
when  excited,  he  exclaimed,  "  Cousin  Mabel,  if  you  were 
empty-hearted  as  a  soap-bubble,  one  would  think  you  could 
not  speak  thus  at  such  a  moment  as  this ;  "  and,  giving  her  a 


IDA     MAY.  313 

reproachful  glance,  he  followed  Ida,  who  had  already  left  the 
room. 

He  found  her  standing  beside  Maura.  Abby,  in  the  midst 
of  the  whole  household,  who  had  by  this  time  gathered  around 
the  spot  where  Alfred  lay  across  the  threshold  of  the  closet- 
door,  with  his  head  supported  in  his  mother's  arms.  Through 
what  intense  disappointment,  through  what  utter  despondency, 
through  what  anguish  of  mind  and  heart,  that  excited  braiii 
had  grown  delirious,  only  God  can  know.  But  he,  who  gives 
the  fulness  of  a  boundless  sympathy  and  pity  to  the  weakness 
of  our  human  nature,  will  pardon  that  wretched  man,  who, 
left  thus  alone  to  wrestle  with  a  crushing  tyranny,  and  finding 
himself  cut  off  from  all  other  refuge,  had  dared  with  his  own 
hand  to  open  the  gates  of  death,  that  through  them  he  might 
escape  from  the  oppressor. 

This  thought  was  a  comfort  to  the  bereaved  mother,  who 
sat  silently  bending  over  him.  It  was  no  shock  to  her  when 
the  men,  who,  imagining  Alfred  asleep  or  sulky,  were  drag- 
ging him  roughly  forth,  suddenly  loosened  their  hold,  ex- 
claiming that  he  was  dead.  For  two  hours  she  had  listened 
in  vain  for  the  quick  panting  breath  which  all  night  long  had 
given  assurance  that  he  was  still  alive ;  and,  after  the  first 
involuntary  heart-thrill  the  knowledge  thus  gradually  attained 
brought  with  it  a  sensation  of  relief;  and,  thinking  of  all  he 
had  endured  in  the  past,  all  he  must  have  endured  in  the 
future,  more  fervently  than  she  had  praised  God  at  her  child's 
birth,  that  mother  gave  thanks  that  her  only  son  was  dead. 

As  they  stood  around  her  silently,  even  the  garrulousnoss 


314  IDA     MAT. 

of  tho  negroes  being  checked  by  the  pitiful  scene,  a  slow, 
decided  step  was  heard  on  the  stairs.  It  was  Mr.  "Wynn ;  and. 
as  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  drew  nearer,  and  the  group,  scat- 
tering apart,  left  him  face  to  face  with  the  dead,  Maum  Abby 
unclasped  her  arms  from  the  lifeless  form  she  had  been  hold- 
ing close  against  her  heart,  and,  laying  it  down  tenderly  upon 
the  floor,  arose  and  stood  before  him.  There  was  something 
almost  majestic  in  the  solemn  reticence  of  her  manner,  — 
something  awful  in  the  utter  desolation  in  which  this  tragedy 
•had  involved  her,  that  hushed  the  very  breathing  of  those 
wao  listened,  as,  pointing  with  one  hand  to  the  corpse  at  her 
feet,  and  raising  the  other  a  little  to  demand  her  master's 
attention,  she  said  to  him,  —  "  Look  !  there  is  my  boy !  —  he 
is  dead,  and  you,  you  have  murdered  him !  Do  not  start 
back  —  do  not  frown  on  me  —  my  son  is  dead,  and  you  can- 
not harm  me  now  !  It  is  not  for  me  to  curse  you  —  not  for 
me !  I  know  not  why  God  has  permitted  this  wrong  to  be 
done.  I  know  not,  blind  worm  that  I  am,  how  my  child's 
death  can  cause  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise  Him,  or  my  own 
misery  advance  the  purposes  of  His  holy  will ;  and  yet  I 
trust  Him,  —  0,  I  will  trust  Him  though  he  slay  me  !  "  she 
added,  raising  her  clasped  hands  high  above  her  head,  and 
looking  upward.  For  a  moment  she  stood  thus,  her  lips  mov- 
ing inaudibly,  as  if  she  prayed,  and  then  gradually  lowering 
her  arms  and  fixing  her  eyes  again  on  Mr.  Wynn,  she  contin- 
ued :  "  I  will  not  curse  you,  that  you  have  robbed  me  of  what 
was  more  to  me  than  my  life ;  that  you  drove  him  to  des- 
peration and  insanity,  that  ended  in  death.  God  will  pardon 


IDA     MAY.  815 

knn  that  deed  ;  but,  when  He  maketh  inquisition  for  blood, 
will  He  not  require  it  at  your  hands  ?  —  you,  who  could  not 
pity  —  who  would  not  forgive  !  What  will  you  answei,  when 
One  who  judgeth  righteously  shall  ask  you,  'Where  is  thy 
brother  ?  0,  Master  Richard,  beware  !  Learn,  while  it  is 
yet  time,  that  these  whom  you  are  crushing,  are  men,  and 
repent  before  God  of  the  evil  you  have  dared  to  do.  Rfepent ! " 

—  and  here  her  voice  rose  like  the  pealing  of  an  organ  swell, 

—  "  Repent !  for,  behold,  the  day  cometh  that  shall  burn  as  an 
oven,  and  all  the  proud,  yea,  and  all  that  do  wickedly,  shaH 
be  as  stubble,  and  the  day  that  cometh  shall  burn  them  up 
saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts." 

She  paused. v  There  was  a  lurid  light  in  her  eyes,  and  with 
her  pale,  stern  face,  her  tall  figure  elevated  to  its  utmost 
height,  and  her  hand  raised  with  a  prophetic  earnestness,  she 
looked  like  one  inspired.  Self-possessed  as  was  Mr.  Wynn, 
and  firmly  as  he  had  braced  himself  against  any  manifesta- 
tion of  the  feelings  that  secretly  agitated  him,  he  had  quailed 
before  the  influence  that  acted  like  a  spell  upon  those  around 
him ;  but  when  she  ceased  speaking,  he  recovered  himself 
and,  stepping  a  little  aside,  said  half  aloud,  "  These  are  but 
the  ravings  of  insanity.  Take  the  woman  away." 

She  bent  forward  a  little,  and  laid  her  hand,  lightly  upon 
his  breast,  but  he  shrank  from  her  touch  with  a  slight  ^shud 
der.  "  I  go,  I  go,"  said  she.  "  I  have  no  more  to  do  here-. 
Bring  my  son  after  me,  —  bring  k'm  to  my  room  for  a  little 
while,  —  a  few  hours,  and  then  the  earth  must  cover  him 
27* 


316  IDA     MAY. 

He  will  sleep  there  in  peace,  and  I  —  God  help  me  —  I  shall 
be  alow" 

Her  words,  changed  now  in  tone  and  manner,  had  a  melan 
choly  and  touching  pathos,  as  if  they  came  from  the  depth  of 
a  broken  heart ;  and  she  t  »ttered  as  she  descended  the  stair* 
slowly,  with  an  uncertain  step,  like  that  of  one  who  walks  in 
the  dark.  Moved  by  a  simultaneous  impulse,  Walter  and 
Ida  sprang  to  aid  her.  Her  hands  were  clenched  together, 
and  her  eyes  glazed  and  dim.  The  reaction  from  that  unnat- 
firal  and  desperate  calmness  was  commencing,  and  in  a  few 
moments  she  was  seized  with  strong  convulsions  that  for  many 
hours  threatened  her  life, 


CHAPTER     XIII 

"  I  tell  thee  that  a  spirit  is  abroad, 
Which  will  not  slumber  till  its  path  be  traced 
By  deeds  of  far-spread  fame.    It  moves  on 
In  silence,  yet  awakening  in  its  path 
That  which  shall  startle  nations." 

DURINQ  several  days  which  succeeded  the  events  that  had 
disturbed,  in  a  manner  so  painful,  the  peace  and  happiness  of 
this  family,  Ida  found  herself  placed  in  a  very  unpleasant 
situation,  by  the  marked  and  studied  coldness  with  which 
she  was  treated  by  Mr.  Wynn.  The  funeral  services  for 
Alfred  had  been  performed,  in  a  very  quiet  manner,  the 
evening  of  the  day  on  which  he  died ;  and,  after  that,  each 
member  of  the  family  instinctively  avoided  any  allusion  to 
the  subject,  in  his  presence.  Maum  Abby  secluded  herself 
in  her  little  dwelling,  and  refused  to  see  any  one  except  her 
mistress  and  Ida  ;  who  spent  many  long  hours  ther.'j,  in  the 
vain  endeavor  to 

"  Minister  to  a  mind  diseased  ; 
Pluck  fram  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow  ;" 

and  all  things  seemed  to  go  on  in  the  usual  routine,  excepi 
that  Mr.  Wynn  entirely  ignored  Ida's  presence  in  his  man 


£18  IDA     MAY. 

eion.  Since  the  cvining  when  she  had  so  daringly  offended 
him,  he  had  never  spoken  to  her ;  and  when,  in  his  inter- 
course with  his  family,  he  addressed  those  who  were  near 
her,  or  engaged  in  conversation  in  which  she  had  borne  a 
part,  his  eyes  looked  above  her,  around  her,  through  her, 
but  never  once  seemed  to  rest  upon  her,  and  his  ears  man- 
ifested a  like  insensibility  to  i*:iy  sound  that  might  issue 
from  her  lips. 

Finding,  at  length,  that  she  must  take  some  decided  meas- 
ure to  overcome  a  course  if  conduct  which,  from  its  perti- 
nacity, was  becoming  vexatious  as  well  as  embarrassing,  and 
also  desiring  to  take  possession  of  the  property  left  her  by 
Mr.  Maynard,  that  she  might  be  enabled  to  accomplish  her 
purposes  respecting  it  during  the  winter  which  was  now  pass- 
ing, Ida  determined  to  venture  again  into  the  library,  where 
.er  stern  guardian  spent  his  mornings,  and  thus  render  an 
'nterview  unavoidable. 

It  was  a  mild,  bright  morning  in  January,  when  she  left 
her  room  for  this  purpose.  In  the  upper  hall  she  met  Wal- 
ter, booted  and  spurred,  and  twirling  Mabel's  riding-whip  in 
his  hand,  as  he  waited  for  her  appearance.  As  he  saw  Ida, 
his  countenance  fell,  'and  he  exclaimed, 

"  Why  are  you  not  dressed  for  riding  ?  I  thought  you  told 
Mabel  you  would  go  with  us  this  morning." 

"  So  I  did,  in  fun.  She  was  only  joking  when  she  asked 
me,"  replied  Ida.  "  You  don't  suppose  I  would  be  Madame 
de  Trop,  do  you  ? " 

"Nonsense!      paid  Walter,  impatiently.      "7  wasn't  in 


IDA     MAY.  319 

fun  when  I  asked  you,  and  neither  was  Mabel  ;  so  you 
shan't  have  that  for  an  excuse  for  breaking  your  promises." 

"  It  is  only  telling  a  little  bit  of  a  white  lie,  —  so  white 
and  transparent  as  to  be  almost  invisible,  —  to  break  such  a 
promise  as  that  was,"  said  Ida,  .aughing.  "I  thought  you 
both  understood  me." 

"  Lay  no  such  flattering  unction  to  your  soul,"  replied 
Walter.  "  I  depended  upon  your  word,  and  have  ordered 
your  horse,  and  hurried  Mabel  away  to  dress,  that  we  might 
have  time  for  a  long  ride.  It  is  so  pleasant  this  morning  it 
will  do  you  good,  and  I  'm  sure  you  need  the  exercise.  So 
please  go  and  get  ready  now,  —  won't  you  ? " 

"  I  can't,"  said  Ida,  shaking  her  head  and  blushing  a  little, 
beneath  the  earnest  eyes  that  were  fixed  on  her. 

"  Don't  say  so,"  persisted  Walter ;  "  don't  shake  those 
ringlets  with  that  positive  air,  as  if  that  decision  were  final. 
Only  think  how  long  it  is  since  you  have  been  out  with  us. 
I  know,"  he  added,  in  a  graver  tone,  "  that  you  have  spent 
your  mornings  with  Maura  Abby,  and  I  honor  you,  Ida,  fit 
your  kindness  to  that  poor  woman,  for  your  courage  and 
your  sympathy  with  her  trouble ;  but  your  own  health  will 
suffer  if  you  continue  this  kind  of  life  much  longer.  Come  to 
ride  with  us  this  morning,  —  do." 

"  I  can't,  indeed,"  replied  Ida,  resisting  by  a  mighty  effort 
the  influence  of  his  pleading  voice,  and  braving,  with  a  mirth- 
ful glance,  the  eyes  whose  peculiar  expression  thrilled  hei 
frame  magnetically.  "  I  have  devoted  this  morning  to  a  .ess 
pleasing  employment.  Like  Esther  of  old,  I  am  going  to 


320  IDA     MAY. 

ventuie  into  the  king  5  presence,  unasked,  and  request  an 
audience." 

"  May  he  hold  out  the  golden  sceptre,  if  such  is  your  rash 
purpose  !  "  replied  Walter.  "  But  why  can't  you  wait  till 
to-morrow  ?  I  am  unavoidably  engaged  to  ride  with  Mabel 
this  morning,  but  to-morrow  I  will  remain  at  home.  Uncle 
Richard  has  treated  you  with  positive  rudeness  lately,  and  I 
confess  I  dread  to  have  you  encounter  him  alone.  You  know 
how  severe  he  can  be." 

"  I  dread  it  also,  and,  therefore,  I  won't  talk  any  longer 
about  it,  lest  I  lose  my  courage.  Why  don't  you  talk  in  a 
more  encouraging  strain  ?  Fie,  Walter  !  A  gentleman  five 
feet  six  inches  high,  who  has  experienced  Europe,  Asia  and 
Africa,  and  come  home  bearded  and  moustached  like  any 
Kuss,  to  talk  of  dreading  any  other  mortal  man  !  0,  fie  !  " 

"  Don't  be  saucy,  Ida,"  replied  Walter,  with  a  smile,  and 
an  expressive  glance.  "  You  know  it  is  only  for  you  I  fear. 
You  are  very  brave,  but  it  goes  against  my  ideis  of  chivalry 
to  leave  a  woman  to  fight  her  battles  alone,  especially  where 
the  right  is  on  her  side." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Ida ;  «  but  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should 
jraw  you  into  my  quarrel  with  your  uncle  !     What  trouble  it 
would  make  !     Your  aunt,  Mabel,  what  would  they  think  of 
me  ?     No,  Walter,"  she  added,  sadly,  "  it  is  as  you  told  me 
I  am  treading  a  difficult  path,  and  I  must  tread  it  alone." 

"  Perhaps  not  entirely  alone,"  replied  Walter,  earnestly. 
"  My  feelings  and  my  ideas  have  changed  sonewhat  since  that 
,-norning.  That  awful  tragedy  shall  not  be  all  in  vain..  I 


I  1)  A     MAY. 


shudder  when  I  think  that  perhaps  it  was  needed  to  arouse 
me  thoroughly  from  the  indifference  that  had  crept  over  me 
regarding  this  matter." 

"  Then  you  were  indifferent  ?  "  said  Ida.  "  Knowing  how 
you  felt  once,  I  thought  perhaps  you  assumed  it." 

"  No,  I  was  indifferent.  I  had  come  to  regard  it  as  a 
necessary  evil,  partly  from  having  been  away  from  home  so 
long  that  everything  connected  with  home  was  clothed  in  the 
softened  light  which  mantles  distant  objects,  and  partly  be- 
cause my  patriotism  was  aroused  to  the  highest  point  by  the 
slurs  and  sneers  I  heard  cast  upon  my-  country  when  I  was 
in  foreign  lands.  I  was  forced  so  often  to  explain  and  ex- 
tenuate and  defend  our  social  system,  when  I  was  among 
foreigners,  who  are  glad  to  make  it  a  byword  and  a  reproach, 
that  I  almost  made  myself  believe,  at  length,  that  all  was  as 
right  as  I  wished  it  to  appear." 
'  And  now  ?  "  asked  Ida. 

"Now  we  will  go  to  ride,  if  M,  le  chevalier  pleases,"  said 
a  voice  behind  them  ;  and,  turning,  they  saw  Mabel  standing 
near. 

How  beautiful  she  was  at  that  moment  !  The  closely- 
fitting  bodice,  and  the  sweeping  folds  of  her  riding-habit 
showed  her  queenly  form  most  advantageously,  and  her  black 
velvet  hat,  with  its  flowing  plumes,  heightened  by  contrast  tnt 
pearl-like  purity  of  her  complexion.  And  yet,  as  Walter 
Varian  looked  at  her,  there  was  no  smile  on  his  lip,  no  tri- 
umph in  his  eyes.  He  did  not  say  to  himself,  exultingly, 
'  This  radiant,  this  peerless  beauty  is  mine,  —  she  loves  me  " 


£$22  IDA     MAT. 

Instead  of  this,  a  strange  pain  shot  through  his  heart,  a  feel- 
ing half  of  disappointment  and  half  of  remorse,  and  his  soul 
whispered  within  him,  "  I  am  bound  to  her  irrevocably,  and 
yet  I  know  that  between  us  there  is  no  sympathy  of  thought, 
and  there  can  be  no  concord  of  action." 

He  had  felt  this  at  times  before,  when  her  words  had 
jarred  harshly  against  the  emotions  which  recent  events  had 
awakened,  dissipating  the  fascination  which  her  wonderful 
beauty  had  at  first  exercised  over  him.  But  never  had  he 
been  so  conscious  of  it  as  now,  —  when  the  admissions  he 
had  made  to  Ida  had  half  committed  him  to  a  line  of 
conduct  which  Mabel  would  regard  with  indignation  and 
contempt.  • 

Really,  1  grieve  to  have  interrupted  so  interesting  a 
tite-a-tete,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  must  be  excused,  since  it  is 
quite  time  for  us  to  go.  Ida,  I  see,  is  not  dressed.  Did  n't 
you  know  that  Walter  ordered  your  horse  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  it  until  he  informed  me  just  now,"  replied 
Ida.  "  I  thought  he  understood  that  we  were  joking,  when  I 
said  I  would  go." 

"  I  was  afraid  that  was  the  case,"  said  Mabel ;  "  but  eince 

t 

it  is  so,  I  think  we  shall  not  be  able  to  wait  for  you.  Come, 
Walter,  it  will  be  too  warm  by  and  by." 

"What  shall  be  done  with  your  h>rse  ?  "  said  Walter,  as 
they  descended  the  stairs. 

"  0,  leave  him  there  in  the  shade.  If  I  feel  like  it  I  will 
ride  out  to  meet  you  on  your  return/' 

She  watched  them  canter  away.     Mabel  rode  finely,  and 


IDA     MAY.  323 

her  commanding  mien  and  figure  never  appeared  to  better 
advantage  than  on  horseback.  Since  the  morning  when  her 
heartless  speech  had  so  irritated  Walter,  and  he  had  turned 
from  her  to  Ida,  she  had  begun  rea^Jy  to  fear  that  her  power 
over  him  was  growing  less,  and  her  pride,  the  strongest  pas- 
sion of  her  nature,  was  startled,  lest  Ida  should  win  the  love 
which  hitherto  she  had  held  so  lightly.  Accustomed  as  she 
was  to  receive  the  homage  of  all  who  came  near  her,  and  see 
suitors  bowing  at  her  feet,  she  had  accepted  her  cousin's  de- 
votion very  much  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  replied  to  it 
favorably,  without  a  very  definite  idea  of  holding  herself  bound 
by  the  promise  ;  but  now  she  was  becoming  more  interested 
in  a  game  which  began  to  be  difficult,  and  all  her  powers  of 
pleasing  had  been  exerted  to  charm  back  her  half-revolted 
fiance,  and,  as  is  often  the  case,  her  own  feelings  were  ex- 
cited and  enlisted  in  the  effort. 

Mr.  Wynn  looked  up  in  surprise  when  Ida  entered  the 
library,  but  he  placed  a  chair  for  her  with  a  frigid  politeness, 
arid  the"n,  retiring  behind  his  spectacles,  he  continued  to  gaze 
at  her  without  speaking. 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  regard  rrie  with  such  fixed 
displeasure,"  said  Ida,  with  an  embarrassed  manner  ;  "  I  am 
very  sorry  to  have  offended  you." 

The  expression  of  his  face  softened  a  little,  and  he  bowed 
his  head  slightly,  in  token  that  her  apology  was  accepted. 
Then,  laying  his  hand  upon  a  quantity  of  books  and  papers, 
which  were  piled  on  the  table,  he  said  abruptly,  "  These  docu- 
ments are  ready,  and  should  have  been  in  your  possession 
28 


324  IDA     MAT. 

before  now.  I  suppose  you  will  hardly  care  tc  lock  over  the 
accounts  yourself;  but  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  select 
some  one  to  manage  your  business,  and  I  think  you  will  find  1 
have  done  all  that  could  be  done  with  your  property  during 
your  minority." 

"  I  have  the  utmost  confidence  in  my  guardian,"  replied 
Ida,  pleasantly,  "  and  am  sure  it  will  be  quite  unnecessary  to 
go  over  the  records.  But,  since  you  have  referred  to  the 
subject,  will  you  please  tell  me  briefly  what  is  the  present 
state  of  the  property  and  its  amount  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure  I  will  do  so,"  said  Mr.  Wynn.  "  The  in- 
come, above  the  expenses,  since  I  have  had  the  care  of  tho 
estate,  has  been  about  four  thousand  dollars,  which  I  have 
placed  in  the  bank  at  your  disposal.  The  portion  of  Oak- 
lands,  which  Mr.  Maynard  gave  you  in  his  will,  is,  as  you 
know,  that  small  detached  farm  which  is  separated  from  the 
rest  of  the  plantation  by  a  strip  of  worthless  blackjack." 

'  Yes,  I  know  it,"  said  Ida.  "  I  rode  over  there  once  with 
you  and  Mabel,  when  I  was  here  three  years  ago.  *  Uncle 
Charles  used  to  call  it '  the  Triangle.'  " 

"  He  gave  it  that  name,  I  believe,  from  some  slight  resem 
blance  in  its  shape  to  that  mathematical  figure,"  continued 
Mr.  Wynn ;  "  and  also,  because,  having  a  very  trashy  set  of 
negroes  on  it,  he  found  it  difficult,  with  his  peculiar  notions, 
to  manage  them.  He  used  to  say  facetiously  that  they  triea 
every  angle  in  his  disposition." 

"Poor  Uncle  Charles!''  said  Ida,  with  a  thoughtful 
anile. 


• 
IDA     MAY.  82t» 


"  It  was  unfortunate  for  my  brother-in-law  that  he  was 
totally  lacking  in  the  firmness  necessary  to  plantation  disci- 
pline, and  consequently  his  fine  estate  has  been  suffering  from 
poor  management  for  many  years.  Oaklands  may  come  up 
in  the  hands  of  a  skilful  cultivator,  if  Walter  concludes  to  sell 
it ;  but  I  regret  to  say  that  the  Triangle,  which  was  never  as 
valuable  land  as  the  other,  is  now  entirely  worn  out,  and 
would  bring  nothing  of  consequence  in  the  market.  There  are 
about  twenty  negroes  connected  with  the  farm,  and  you  will 
probably  find  it  for  your  interest  to  sell  them.  But,  of  course, 
all  that  can  be  arranged  with  the  person  whom  you  shall 
choose  as  your  agent  in  business  matters.  If  I  might  advise, 
I  should  recommend  you  to  authorize  Walter  to  act  for 
you.  He  will  take  an  office  in  the  city,  before  long,  and,  I 
have  no  doubt,  will  make  the  best  settlement  possible  for 
you." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Ida ;  "  but  Walter  will  hardly  get 
established  before  spring,  and  there  is  but  one  way  in  which  I 
can  allow  my  negroes  to  be  disposed  of,  and  I  wish  that  ar- 
rangement to  be  completed  during  this  winter.  I  shall  have 
free  papers  made  out  for  each  of  them,"  she  added,  her  heart 
beating  a  little  more  rapidly  than  usual,  "  and  send  them  to 
the  free  States.  Four  thousand  dollars  will  be  sufficient  to 
locate  them  there  comfortably,  I  think,  and  make  provision 
for  those  who  are  too  old  or  too  ignorant  to  take  care  of 
themselves." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  this  folly,"  said  Mr.  Wynn,  his 
sold  Courtesy  of  manner  instantly  relapsing  into  sternness ; 


326  IDA     MAY. 

but  I  think  you  will  find,  after  you  have  wasted  your  fortune 
in  this  way,  that  the  people,  whom  you  have  thus  placed  in  a 
false  position,  will  hardly  thank  you." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  Ida,  smiling ;  "  but  I  think  their 
children  will ;  at  any  rate,  I  shall  have  a  clear  conscience, 
and  that,  you  know,  sir,  is  worth  more  than  a  heap  of 
money." 

"  But  it  will  hardly  give  you  a  livelihood,  nevertheless," 
said  Mr.  Wynn,  scoffingly.  "  But  that  will  matter  little,  I 
suppose.  It  is  the  way  with  these  pseudo-philanthropists, 
to  make  themselves  notorious  by  some  needless  sacrifice, 
and  then  to  be  a  burden  on  their  admirers  ever  after. ' 

"  I  am  afraid  your  acquaintance  with"  philanthropists  has 
not  been  very  extensive,"  remarked  Ida,  quietly  ;  "  but, 
even  if  it  is  so,  your  observation  hardly  applies  to  me, 
since  a  simple  act  of  justice  ought  not  to  be  called  philan- 
thropy." 

She  paused,  but  Mr.  Wynn  deigned  no  reply,  and  she  t>aw 
that  she  had  again  offended  him.  "  I  beg  you  will  not  be 
angry  because  I  claim  the  right  to  exercise  liberty  of  con- 
science," she  continued,  in  a  deprecating  tone.  "  I  have 
received  much  kindness  from  all  your  family,  and  I  know  it 
was  the  wish  of  one,  who  was  dear  to  us  all,  that  we  should 
always  be  friends,  and  it  grieves  me  inexpressibly  to  be  com- 
pelled thu  to  offend  your  prejudices.  Believe  me,  nothing 
would  induce  me  to  risk  incurring  your  displeasure,  and  for- 
feiting the  friendthip  of  you-  family,  except  a  strong  convic- 
tion of  duty.1' 


IDA  M;  /.  327 

"  Duty  !  nonsense ! "  retorted  Mr.  Wynn.  "  Your  aboli- 
tionist friends  at  the  north  have  instigated  this  movement, 
and  you  are  carrying  it  out  for  the  sake  of  effect." 

"  You  are  entirely  mistaken,  sir,"  said  Ida,  respectfully, 
but  with  great  dignity ;  "  and  I  assure  you  that  it  is  no  north- 
ern influence,  but  what  I  have  seen  and  heard  here  in  ihe 
south,  that  has  made  me  an  abolitionist.  Our  views  of  right 
differ  so  much,  that  it  is  plain  we  should  not  prolong  this 
conversation,"  she  addxl,  rising  from  the  chair.  "  I  thought 
it  most  proper  to  inform  you  of  my  intentions  in  respect  to 
this  property,  before  taking  any  legal  measures ;  and  I  wished 
also  to  ask  your  permission  to  order  the  carriage  and  drive 
over  to  the  Triangle.  I  want  to  see  for  myself  what  is  the 
state  of  affairs  there." 

"  I  shall  give  no  such  permission,  or,  in  any  way, 
countenance  these  absurd  proceedings,"  said  Mr.  Wynn, 
angrily. 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you  will  allow  a  servant  to  ride  after  me," 
persisted  Ida,  whom  this  sort  of  opposition  only  served  to 
render  more  cool  and  decided. 

"  No  servant  of  mine  shall  go  with  you.  I  tell  you,  I  will 
not  countenance  such  proceedings,"  said  Mr.  Wynn.  "  If 
\rou  go  to  the  Triangle  on  such  an  errand,  you  must  go 
alone." 

"  Then  I  will  go  alone,"  replied  the  undaunted  girl ;  and 
she  turned  away  suddenly  as  she  spoke,  and  went  to  her  own 
room. 

Her  heart  swelled  wit'.,  indignation  and  pain.  She  had 
28* 


5J'2S  IDA     MAY. 

really  desired  peace,  and  she  had  met  with  the  most  unreason- 
able  and  unreasoning  contention.  She  had  only  desired 
liberty  to  do  quietly  that  which  her  conscience  demanded, 
and  she  found  herself  subjected  to  the  most  imperious  despot- 
ism. As  she  went  up  the  stairs,  she  saw  her  horse,  still 
saddled,  standing  where  Walter  had  left  him,  and  the  thought 
occurred  to  her,  that  now,  better  than  at  any  other  time, 
she  ojuld  accomplish  her  purpose  of  visiting  her  planta- 
tion, without  being  obliged  to  call  upon  any  one  for  assist- 
ance. •  *  • 

"  I  will  go  this  very  day.  The  breach  is  rapidly  widening 
that  sunders  me  from  this  family,  and  the  sooner  the  business 
is  accomplished  now,  the  better  it  will  be  for  us  all,"  she  said 
to  herself,  as  she  entered  her  chamber,  and  began  to  put  on 
her  riding  habit. 

While  she  was  thus  employed,  Mrs.  Wynn  entered  the 
door. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Ida  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  quiet  sur 
prise,  as  she  marked  the  girl's  flushed  cheeks  and  hurried 
movements. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Triangle,"  said  Ida. 

"  To  the  Triangle !  .  Why,  dear  child,  it  is  eight  milef 
away,  —  sixteen  miles,  you  wil'  have  to  ride '  You  won't  b< 
back  before  dinner." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  Ida.  "  If  I  don't  return,  you  wil 
please  not  say  anything  about  it  at  the  table.  I  think  Mr 
Wynn  may  not  like  it  " 


IDA     MAY.  329 

"  Mr.  W  fnn  !  what  has  he  to  do  with  it  ?  and  who  is  going 
with  you  ?  " 

"Nobody;  lam  going  alone." 

"  Alone !  why,  my  dear  girl,  you  must  n't  think  of  it. 
:  label  and  Walter  rode  away  some  time  ago ;  but  you  shall 
have  a  servant  to  go  with  you,  if  you  are  determined  to  take 
so  long  a  ride." 

"  I  had  rather  not,  dear  Mrs.  Wynn,"  said  Ida,  gently. 

'  But  you  must,  Who  ever  heard  of  a  young  girl  like 
you  riding  so  far  alone?  It  will  be  very  improper,  and 
unsafe." 

"  Not  exactly  according  to  conventional  rules,  I  know," 
replied  Ida ;  "  but  still  not  really  unsafe.  Don't  urge  me, 
for,  indeed,  I  must  go  alone.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  have 
spoken  to  Mr,  Wynn  about  it,  and  he  refuses  to  allow  me  an 
escort." 

Poor  Mrs.  Wynn  sat  down  at  these  words,  as  if  the  allu- 
sion to  her  hr>.-_and  had  taken  away  all  her  strength.  "  0," 
said  she,  "it  seems  as  if  we  should  never  know  the  last  of 
that  sad  trouble  connected  with  Alfred  !  You  are  a  bravt 
girl,  Ida,  and  a  great  comfort  to  Ma'am  Abby  ;  but  sometimes 
I  wish  you  'ad  not  tried  to  intercede  for  her  poor  boy.  It 
frightens  mt  to  see  how  Mr.  Wynn  looks  at  you  ever  since ' 
I  do  so  dread  any  quarrelling,  and  now  it  seems  as  if  we  were 
never  to  be  rt  peace  again." 

"  I  fear  there  will  not  be  peace  again  while  I  remain 
here,"  said  j.aa,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears;  "  but,  dear  friend, 
you  won't  b^an-.e  me,  will  you  ?  No  one  can  tell  the  bitter 


8bv.'  IDA     M  A  \  . 

sorrow  it  has  cost  me  to  take  this  offensive  pos  tion ;  but,  with 
niy  convictions  of  duty,  I  cannot  do  otherwise ;  and,  since  it 
mutt  be  done,  it  had  better  be  done  quickly,  and  then  I  can 
go  fe,way,  and  you  will  all  be  happy  again." 

"Don't  speak  so  sadly,  Ida,"  said  kind  little  Mrs.  Wynn; 
"it  is  not  you  who  have  made  the  trouble,  and  something  more 
than  your  departure  is  needed  to  restore  happiness,  to  me,  at 
least.  Here  is  poor  Maum  Abby,  who  seems  to  me  now  like 
an  accusing  spirit  haunting  the  house,  though,  God  knows, 
my  heart  aches  as  if  it  would  burst  every  time  I  think  of 
her,"  she  continued  in  a  dejected  tone ;  "  and  that  unfortunate 
girl,  Elsie,  —  it  distresses  me  to  think  of  her.  She  was  found 
this  morning  again  stretched  senseless  on  Alfred's  grave 
Thifc  is  the  third  time  she  has  been  found  there,  and  once  she 
was  completely  drenched  with  a  soaking  rain,  that  fell  during 
the  night,  and  she  has  been  in  a  high  fever  ever  since.  I  can't 
have  a  heart  to  be  cross  to  her,  and  tell  her  she  shan't  come 
here ;  but  I  shall  not  be  able  to  keep  it  much  longer  from 
jMr.  Wynn,  and  I  know  he  will  be  angry.  0,  dear  Ida,  you 
don't  know  what  trouble  and  anxiety  I  see  before  me  for  years 
to  come  ;  and  then  to  think  that  it  is  all  because  we  are  up- 
holding a  terrible  wrong !  0,  Ida,  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

"  There  is  but  little  that  you  can  do,  dear  Mrs.  Wynn," 
replied  Ida,  with  an  affectionate  glance  into  the  face  that  was 
clouded  with  perplexity  and  grief.  "  You  hat  e  power  to 
render  your  servants  much  assistance,  and  make  them  far 
happier  than  they  would  be  otherwise,  and  in  that  you  must 
find  comfort,  and  not  distress  yourself  about  those  things 


IDA     MAY.  331 

wherein  you  are  littered  by  the  authority  or  the  action  of 
others.  Impossibilities  are  never  duties,  as  I  told  you  when 
we  were  talking  yesterday  on  this  subject.  I  trust  Maum 
Abby  will  grow  more  resigned  and  cheerful  by  and  by>  and 
as  time  goes  on,  she  must  feel  your  kindness ;  and  I  think 
that  poor  little  Elsie  will  not  live  long  to  trouble  or  offend 
anybody.  But  I  must  not  stand  here  to  talk  any  longer,  or 
I  shall  not  have  time  for  my  ride." 

"  I  will  not  urge  you  any  more,"  said  Mrs.  Wynn,  "  for, 
young  as  you  are,  you  seem  tfl  be  better  capable  of  guiding 
me  than  I  am  of  directing  you ;  but  I  do  dread  to  have  you 
go  alone,  and  certainly  you  must  have  something  to  eat  before 
you  go.  Come  with  me,  and  take  a  snack." 

Ida  willingly  complied  with  this  friendly  suggestion,  and, 
having  thus  fortified  herself  against  the  demands  of  hunger, 
she  sprang  lightly  on  her  horse,  who,  tired  with  waiting  her 
pleasure  so  long,  darted  away  the  moment  he  felt  the 
touch  of  her  whip.  As  she  passed  the  library  window,  where 
Mr.  Wynn  was  sitting,  he  looked  up,  and  his  lip  curled  till 
each  "  separate  and  individual  hair  "  of  his  thin  red  beard 
seemed  bristling  with  wrath  at  the  audacity  with  which  she 
had  braved  his  displeasure. 

Imperious  and  arbitrary  by  nature,  it  was  not  strange  that 
education  and  the  influence  of  his  position  should  have  so 
habituated  him  to  a  tyrannical  imposition  of  his  own  will 
upon  those  around  him,  that  he  was  totally  unprepared  to 
view  with  equatimity  vhe  course  Ida  was  pursuing.  That  one 
of  his  family  should  assume  the  right  of  self-guidance  and 


V62  IDA     MAT. 

oppose  his  expressed  wishes,  or  question  the  propriety  of  his 
actions,  seemed  to  him  a  monstrous  and  unheard-of  act  01 
rebellion.  Alfrii's  death  had  shaken  him  for  a  few  hours, 
only  to  leave  him  more  firmly  rooted  than  ever  in  his  habitual 
self-will  It  was  an  accident,  he  said  to  himself,  owing 
entirely  to  the  obstinacy  of  the  servant,  and  for  which  he 
was  in  no  way  responsible ;  and  it  irritated  him  to  know  or  to 
imagine  that  any  of  his  household  thought  otherwise. 

For  a  mile  or  two,  Ida  rode  rapidly.  It  was  a  clear,  sun- 
shiny day,  and  the  swift  motion,  the  brightness  all  around 
her,  and  the  pleasant  air  filled  with  tie  aroma  of  the  budding 
pines,  raised  her  spirits  and  nerved  her  energies  for  the  duties 
that  lay  before  her.  But,  as  the  sun  rose  high  in  the  heavens, 
and  the  heat  grew  oppressive,  and  the  flat  sandy  road  became 
wearisome,  doubts,  fears  and  discouraging  thoughts  again  per- 
plexed her,  as  she  reflected  upon  the  difficulties  that  must  be 
encountered,  and  the  responsibility  she  was  assuming,  and  on 
her  own  youth  and  inexperience,  and  the  loneliness  of  her 
position,  without  one  friend  to  aid  her,  except  Walter  Varian. 
The  idea  of  being  obliged  to'  involve  him  in  her  troubles,  or  to 
depend  upon  him  for  help,  was  worse  to  her  than  all  the  rest. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  a  slower  pace,  and  a  somewhat  sad- 
dened brow,  that,  six  miles  from  Wynn  Hall,  she  turned  away 
from  the  main  road,  and  entered  the  narrow  and  shady  one, 
which  she  recognized  as  leading  to  the  Triangle,  by  a  tall 
dead  pine-tree,  of  peculiar  shape,  that  stood  at  its  entrance. 
It  was  a  pleasant  winding  path,  but  intersected  b/  many 
others  which  crossed  it  in  all  directions ;  and,  before  she  had 


IDA     MAY.  330 

ridden  a  mile,  she  began  to  be  puzzlod,  as  many  another 
traveller  has  been  in  those  pine  lands,  to  know  which  of  the 
various  roads,  all  looking  exactly  alike,  converging,  diverg- 
ing, running  in  parallels,  or  meeting  in  circles,  she  ought  to 
pursue,  in  order  to  reach  her  plantation.  After  making 
several  turnings,  she  began  to  fear  she  had  lost  her  way,  and 
seeing  at  a  little  distance  a  deep  shady  hollow,  where  an  old 
woman  was  washing  beside  a  spring,  she  rode  in  between  the 
tall,  straight  trees,  which  here  rose  like  the  pillars  of  a  cathe- 
dral, supporting  a  roof  of  closely-woven  branches,  through 
which  the  sunshine  came,  softened  into  a  dim  green  light,  that 
suited  well  the  cloistered  stillness  of  the  place. 

The  woman  who  was  pursuing  her  labors  in  this  secluded 
spot  seemed  to  be  between  sixty  and  seventy  years  of  age. 
She  was  bent  and  wrinkled,  and  the  hair  which  showed  itself 
under  her  scanty  turban  was  literally  "  white  as  wool"  She 
wore  a  sack  or  short  gown,  of  very  thick  gray  cloth,  which 
2ame  a  little  below  her  hips,  and  the  rest  of  her  person  was 
covered  by  three  or  four  ragged  petticoats,  which,  mingled  in 
a  picturesque  confusion  of  tatters,  hung  from  under  this  upper 
garment ;  and  her  feet  and  ancles  were  bound  about  with 
strips  of  rags  in  place  of  stockings,  while  on  the  ground,  under 
her  washing-bench,  was  a  pair  of  cowhide  shoes,  of  the  rudest 
and  strongest  construction.  She  looked  up  from  her  work,  as 
Ida  drew  near,  with  an  expression  of  sullen  curiosity ;  but,  after 
a  momentary  glanco  at  the  fair  vision,  she  seemed  to  regard 
her  presence  as  an  annoying  interruption  of  her  work,  and 
though  she  answered  the  questions  addressed  to  her,  in  a 


384  IDA    MAY. 

espectful  manner,  she  was  evidently  little  disposed  to  the 
.oquacity  so  common  among  the  negroes. 

While  Ida  was  ascertaining  the  route  she  must  take  to 
gain  her  plantation,  and  its  distance,  certain  sounds,  which, 
for  the  last  fifteen  minutes,  she  had  heard  at  intervals,  became 
louder  and  more  frequent,  and,  as  she  paused  and  looked  with 
some  alarm  in  the  direction  whence  they  proceeded,  a  pack 
of  fierce-looking  blood-hounds,  of  the  largest  size,  burst  through 
a  low  coppice  of  laurel  that  grew  on  the  edge  of  the  stream 
at  a  little  distance,  and,  with  their  noses  close  to  the  ground, 
pursued  a  straight  course  through  the  hollow,  and  disappeared 
in  the  woods  beyond.  Ida  drew  back,  with  involuntary  dread 
of  the  ferocious  creatures,  who  seemed  strong  enough  to  have 
dragged  her  from  her  horse  and  devoured  her,  if  they  had 
chosen  to  notice  her  presence.  But,  to  her  surprise,  the 
woman  manifested  no  alarm,  and  made  no  effort  to  hide  from 
them,  but  stood  looking  after  them,  without  speaking,  until 
the  sound  of  their  hoarse  baying  grew  faint  in  the  distance. 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  ?  "  said  Ida. 

"  No,"  said  she,  with  a  short,  bitter  laugh,  while  the  gloom 
of  her  face  deepened,  "  no,  I  a'n't  scare  !  I  a'n't  de  runaway 
nigger !  Dem  creturs  knows  what  dey  'bout !  Dey  on  de 
track  now,  yer  see  !  I  knows  'em  !  I  'se  seed  'em  go  'traight 
t'rough  a  hull  gang,  workin'  in  de  fiel',  an',  neber  tetch  one  ! " 

"  I  've  heard  of  these  things  before,"  said  Ida,  speaking 
rather  to  herself  than  her  companion,  <  hut  it  don't  seem  a,- 
if  dogs  could  be  so  well  trained  '  " 

"  Dem  a'n't  dogs,  —  dem  's  debits  '  "  said  the  woman,  in  M 


IDA     MAY.  33t» 

sharp,  angry  tone.  "  De  a'n't  nothin'  hunts  niggers  like  dat 
ar'  gang  do,  'thout  de  debil  is  in  'em.  Dat  de  reason  why  de 
nigger  so  scare  when  he  hear  'era.  He  know  de  debil  a'ter 
him,  he  can't  git  'way,  no  how.  Ki !  dem  a'n't  dogs  !  " 

Just  then  two  men,  on  horseback,  armed  with  guns,  and 
ferocious-looking  a?  the  dogs  they  were  following,  came 
through  the  coppice,  and  passed  along  near  them.  They 
half  stopped,  and  looked  at  Ida  suspiciously,  as  they  saw  her 
talking  with  the  woman,  and  their  rude,  lawless  gaze  made 
her  glad  of  the  presence  even  of  one  who  could  afford  little 
protection ;  but  they  did  not  speak  to  her,  and,  though  they 
often  looked  back,  they  offered  no  molestation. 

"  The  dogs  belong  to  those  men,  I  suppose,"  said  Ida, 
breathing  more  freely  when  they  were  out  of  sight. 

"  Yes,  dey  all  brongs  togeder,  —  they  all  sarve  dere  rnassa,'' 
replied  the  woman,  sententiously. 

"  Do  you  know  who  they  are  after  ? "  asked  Ida. 

"  I  reckon  !  "  replied  she,  "  I  hearu  rnassa  tellin'  somethin' 
to  dem  ar  men  las'  night,  when  I  'se  up  de  house,  payin'  my 
wage.  I  reckon  dere  a'n't  many  he's  niggers  run  far  'thout 
habin'  dese  yer  debils  arter  'em.  Yeller  Sam  done  kotch  it, 
'fore  dis  day  done  shed,  I  tell  yer." 

"  Who  is  your  master  ?  "  said  Ida. 

"  Name  Massa  John  Laikin,"  answered  her  companion. 

"  Are  you  washing  for  his  family  ?  Why  do  you  bring 
your  work  so  far  from  the  house  ? "  said  Ida,  who  knew 
where  the  gentleman  referred  to  resided. 

"  0,  I  'se  ole  woman,  yer  see,  and  so  he  let  me  hire  myself, 
29 


336  IDA     MAY. 

and  I  lives  little  piece  down  here  by  de  wood,  and  gets  de 
washing  from  de  folks  in  de  tavern.  Sometime  heap  o'  folks 
dcre,  and  den  I  does  mighty  well." 

"  What  do  you  pay  your  master  ?  "  Ida  asked. 

"  Five  dollar,  and  find  myself,"  replied  the  woman. 

"  Five  dollars  a  month !  that  is  more  than  a  dollar  a 
week  !  "  exclaimed  Ida.  "  How  can  an  old  woman,  like  you, 
earn  enough  to  pay  your  master  so  much,  and  find  food  and 
clothing  for  yourself?  " 

"  I  does  n't  allers,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  half  sigh ;  "  but 
den  Mass'  John  keep  de  'count  de  week  when  I  don't  bring 
de  whole  dollar,  an'  I  pays  him  up  when  I  gets  it.  Mass' 
allers  manage  some  way  come  out  square  when  de  month 
come  roun'." 

"  But  how  do  you  get  your  own  food  and  clothes  ?  " 

"  0,  I  jest  does  de  best  I  can.  Sometimes  I  gets  little 
guv  me.  De  ladies  guv  me  all  dese  petticoats,  long  time  'go," 
she  answered,  taking  hold  of  her  accumulated  rags ;  "  and 
sometime  my  chillen  send  me  little.  My  son,  down  in 
Charleston,  he  skinch  heself  o'  trousers,  and  send  me  de  cloth 
for  make  dis  nice  warm  sack,  keep  me  warm  in  de  cole  days 
and  nights." 

"  I  am  glad  your  children  help  you,  for  you  must  find  it 
rather  hard  to  get  along,"  said  Ida,  compassionately. 

"  Well,  missis,  what  wid  all  dem  tings,  and  getting  my 
little  'bacca,  and  my  little  tea,  and  my  little  'lasses,  arxl  my 
'ittle  bit  o'  bacon,  it  do  come  pretty  hard,  sometime,  on  a 


IDA     MAY.  33? 

ooor  old  cretur.  Nobody  knows,  but  de  Lud,  he  knows." 
she  added,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  But  if  you  can  go  to  Him  with  your  troubles,"  said  Ida, 
"  and  ask  Him  to  give  you  strength  and  patience  to  bear 
them,  and  to  make  you  good,  so  that  you  can  go  to  heaven 
when  you  die  ;  and,  if  you  can  have  a  sure  hope  that  you  are 
a  Christian,  you  have  one  comfort  that  nobody  can  take  away 
from  you." 

It  was  strange  to  see  how  the  gloom  and  the  sullen  expres- 
sion faded  from  the  old  woman's  face,  as  Ida  was  speaking, 
and  in  its  place  there  came  a  smile  of  interest  and  of  hope. 
Those  woras  had  touched  the  chords  of  a  spiritual  life,  which, 
wherever  appealed  to,  whether  in  the  breast  of  the  high  or 
the  lowly,  the  educated  or  the  ignorant,  send  forth  the  same 
unfailing  strain  of  joy  and  triumph. 

"  Dat  it !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  dat  it,  missis  !  It  am  de 
sure  hope  o'  de  odder  worle  dat  helps  us  when  dis  worle  am 
all  dark.  Sometime  it  look  hard,  and  jest  when  I  tink,  now 
I  'se  done  'pented,  an'  de  Lord,  he  done  forgive  me,  an'  I  'se 
mighty  good  Christian,  den  de  debil  come,  and  it  all  go  'way, 
an'  I  don't  see  nothin  but  heap  o'  sin  all  roun'  me.  Den  I 
pray,  —  pray  much,  —  pray  all  night,  may  be,  —  and  den  do 
hope  all  come  back,  an'  I  mighty  glad  'gain  But  't  wont  be 
allers  so,  missis,  I  feels  't  wont !  In  de  odder  worle  de  debil 
won't  have  no  chance,  to  upset  us,  like  he  do  new ;  and  den 
how  happy  we  will  be !  O,  de  sufferin's  o'  dis  yer  time  aVt 
nothin',  —  ain't  nothing  —  'pared  to  de  glory  dat  s  gwine  ba 
'vealed  inter  us  den  '  " 


33S  IDA     MAT. 

"  That  is  a  blessed  promise  to  the  tired  and  the  suffering," 
said  Ida.  "  Only  th.nk  how  great  that  glory  and  happiness 
must  be,  which  will  outweigh  all  the  sorrows  we  have  to 
endure  in  this  world !  And  God  gives  us  a  great  deal  to 
enjoy,  even  in  this  world,  in  thinking  of  those  things  which 
he  has  in  store  for  us  in  heaven." 

"  Dat  it,  —  dat  it,  —  'pears  like  we  'se  rich  when  we  has 
dis  sher,  ef  we  don't  have  nothin'  else ! "  exclaimed  the 
woman,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ida ;  "  and  to  the  poor  and  the  suffering 
God  often  gives  more  of  the  consolations  of  his  grace  than  he 
does  to  those  who  are  rich,  and  have  other  things  to  make 
them  happy." 

"Dat  it, — dat  it!"  —  repeated  the  woman,  holding  up 
both  hands  with  a  solemn  gesture.  "  0,  miss,  you  'se  rick, 
and  you'se  white,  and  you'se  free;  but  de  Lord,  up  in 
heaben,  he  care  for  de  poor  and  de  lowly,  jest  de  same  he 
do  for  you ,  an'  ef  it  wan't  for  de  good  probidence  o'  de  Lord, 
I  dono'  what  de  poor  nigger  would  do." 

The  earnest  manner  in  which  these  simple  and  touching 
\rords  were  spoken,  affected  Ida  deeply.  Nothing  had  evu* 
so  convicted  her  of  her  own  want  of  faith  and  submission  ; 
for,  in  her  heart,  she  had  been  murmuring  at  the  Providence 
which  had  ordered  for  her  such  a  changeful  and  lonely  life, 
and  made  'ner  so  early  fatherless  and  motherless.  She  had 
.shrunk  despondingly  from  the  trial  and  the  task  before  her, 
and  almost  arraigned  the  wisdom  which  had  appointed  such  a 
duty  for  one  PO  helpless  and  so  friendless.  "  0  !  "  said  she 


IDA     MAY.  339 

to  herself,  "  if  this  miserable  woman,  aged  and  destitute  of 
all  that  makes  lift  a  blessing,  can  have  such  faith  in  God, 
and  such  submission  to  his  will,  how  much  more  should  I ! " 
And  it  was  with  a  humble  and  chastened  heart  that,  after 
having  given  her  companion  a  small  sum  of  money,  she  pur- 
sued her  way,  meeting  with  no  further  hindrance  or  adventure, 
until  she  arrived  at  the  entrance  of  the  narrow  road  that  lei 
through  the  plantation. 

Here  she  paused  a  moment,  to  collect  her  thoughts,  and  to 
survey  the  scene  before  her.  The  whole  extent  of  the  farm 
was  visible  from  the  place  where  she  stood  ;  its  level  surface, 
unbroken  by  fences,  and  now  destitute  of  vegetation,  showing 
the  brown  soil  formed  from  the  trap-rock,  which  once  yielded 
such  abundant  crops,  but  which  had  now,  by  that  very  means 
and  by  subsequent  bad  management,  become  thin  and  ex- 
hausted. Scattered  over  the  field,  in  the  distance,  were  a  few 
negroes  at  work,  beating  down  the  old  cotton-stalks  with 
clubs ;  but  no  one  was  near,  and  Ida  rode  slowly  along, 
towards  a  group  of  log-huts,  that  stood  under  the  shadow  of 
the  black  jack  oaks  that  skirted  the  treeless  expanse.  Her 
heart  sank  within  her,  as  she  stopped  before  each  door,  and 
looked  within  the  miserable  dwellings,  which  presented  only  a 
picture  of  discomfort  and  filth,  and  reflected  that,  though  they 
seemed  hardly  fit  habitations  for  cattle,  they  were  the  homes 
of  human  beings,  at  the  expense  of  whose  poverty  she  had 
been  living  in  luxury.  Knowing  Mr.  Wynn's  views  on  these 
subjects,  and  his  treatment  of  his  own  field-hands,  she  had  not 
expected  to  find  more  than  the  bare  necessaries  of  life,  in  it? 
29* 


840  IDA     MAY. 

lowest  estate ;  but  she  was  unprepared  for  such  utter  destitu 
tion.  In  fact,  Mr.  "VVynn  himself  was  hardly  aware  of  it 
He  had  left  everything  to  the  overseer,  and  thought  his  duty 
as  a  guardian  was  fulfilled  in  obtaining  the  largest  possible 
hcome  for  his  ward. 

At  the  door  of  one  hut  an  old  woman,  evidently  blind, 
was  sitting,  holding  a  wretched-looking  baby,  while  two  others 
lay  on  the  ground  before  her.  A  little  further  on  several 
children,  no  one  of  them  having  sufficient  clothing  to  answer 
the  purposes  of  decency,  were  playing  and  quarrelling  to- 
gether. Appalled  and  disheartened,  Ida  passed  them  all 
without  speaking,  and  proceeded  some  rods  further,  towards 
a  low  building,  used  for  storing  cotton  and  other  products  of 
the  plantation.  As  she  came  near,  she  heard  the  sound  of 
voices  raised  in  anger  and  entreaty,  and  then  a  swinging 
blow,  followed  by  a  shriek.  Hastily  dismounting  from  her 
horse,  she  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered. 

A  short,  ruffianly-looking  man  stood  before  her,  with  a 
long,  heavy  whip  raised  in  his  hand  to  give  a  second  blow  to 
the  quivering,  naked  creature  who  was  tied  to  a  beam  on  one 
side  of  the  shed,  his  hands  drawn  so  high  above  his  head  that 
only  the  points  of  his  toes  rested  on  the  floor.  Near  them  a 
woman  was  crouching  on  the  floor,  her  scanty  dress  half  torn 
from  her  shoulders,  and  her  face  bowed  on  her  knees  in  a 
posture  of  fear  and  despair. 

At  the  glare  of  light  which  streamed  in  upon  them  on  the 
opening  of  the  door,  the  man  turned,  and  started  with  aston- 
ishment at  the  unexpected  vision  that  was  revealed. 


IDA     MAY.  34J 

•'  What  is  all  this  about  ?  why  do  you  whip  that  man  ? ' 
said  Ida,  coming  forward  with  an  air  of  dignity  and  authority, 
which  compelled  respect.  The  man  stared  at  her  a  few 
moments,  and  then  she  repeated  her  question.  He  answered 
in  a  tone  half  sullen  and  half  insolent, 

"I  don't  know  what  business  you  have  interfering,  but  I 
ha'n't  no  objections  totellin'  you  that  this  sher  wench  desarved 
a  floggin',  and  I  told  this  boy  to  give  it  to  her,  and  'cause  he 
would  n't  I  've  tied  him  up,  and  after  I  've  given  him  a  first- 
rate  cutting-up,  I  'm  going  to  give  her  another.  I  '11  lam 
'em  to  tell  me  they  won't,  the  impudent  niggers  !  " 

He  shook  his  fist  at  the  kneeling  woman  as  he  spoke,  but 
she  crept  forward  a  little,  and,  seeing  compassion  in  Ida's 
lace,  she  said  tremblingly, 

"  0,  miss,  he  be  my  husband,  —  lie  could  n't  b'ar  to  beat 
me ! " 

Ida  laid  her  delicate  little  hand  on  the  woman's  head,  as  if 
to  shield  her,  and  turning  to  the  overseer,  whom  she  had  seen 
once  before,  and  whose  name  she  now  remembered,  she  said, 

"  Mr.  Potter,  take  that  man  down  immediately,  and  senu 
him  to  his  work.  I  won't  have  either  of  them  whipped." 

The  woman  gave  a  stifled  exclamation  of  joy  at  these 
words,  and  pressed  the  folds  of  Ida's  dress  with  both  hands  to 
her  forehead,  as  if  performing  an  act  of  worship ;  but  the 
overseer  uttered  a  brutal  oath,  and,  bringing  the  leaden  end 
of  his  whip-handle  heavily  down  on  the  floor,  exclaimed  — 

"  Who  are  you  ?  Go  about  your  business,  and  leave  me 
to  manage  mine  ! " 


342  I  1)  A     MAY. 

"  Your  business  is  mine  also,"  said  Ida,  kindly  but  firmly 
"  I  am  the  owner  of  this  plantation,  and  of  these  negroea. 
I  am  Miss  May  !  " 

There  was  something  in  her  manner  that  enforced  the  truth 
of  her  words ;  and,  knowing  that  if  they  were  true  it  was  for 
his  interest  not  to  offend  her,  h'e  muttered,  in  a  half-respectful 
tone, 

'  If  you  be  Miss  May,  they  be  your'n,  sure  enough ;  but 
how  came  you  here  this  time  o'  day  ?  Why  did  n't  Mr. 
Wynn  come  with  you  ? " 

"  I  chose  to  come  alone,"  said  Ida,  with  a  gentle  dignity 
that  repressed  further  questioning.  "  Do  you  not  remember 
me  ?  I  saw  you  at  the  hall  Christmas  day.  You  were  just 
leaving  as  I  arrived  there.  Mr.  Wynn  paid  you  some  money 
as  you  stood  on  the  piazza,  before  the  library  window." 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  miss,"  said  the  man,  gruffly,  now  fully 
convinced  of  Ida's  identity.  "  I  does  remember  somebody 
comin'  that  day,  and  I  see  you  knows  all  about  me.  Bui 
this  sher  boy  and  gall  does  desarve  a  whippin'  powerful,  an' 
if  I  'm  goin'  ter  have  the  care  o'  the  plantation,  yer  see 
't  won't  do  fur  ye  to  interfere.  That 's  what  Mr.  Wynn 
allers  tells  his  niggers  when  they  complains  'bout  his  over- 
seer." 

"  We  will  talk  about  that  some  other  time,"  said  Ida. 
•  At  present  I  want  to  Bee  that  man  taken  down." 

Mr.  Potter  obeyed  this  request  without  further  parley,  but 
with  evident  reluctance,  and  he  shook  his  whip  threateningly 
it  the  man  and  woman  as  they  crept  awny  coweringly  before 


IDA     MAY.  343 

his  angry  glance,  thankful  for  their  release  from  the  impend- 
ing punishment,  but  half  doubting  if  their  deliverer  had 
power  to  ensure  them  against  his  future  vengeance.  Left 
alone  with  him  in  the  vacant  and  dusky  building,  Ida  felt 
half  afraid  of  the  rude  nature  whose  savage  propensities  she 
had  restrained.  Standing  in  the  doorway,  she  said, 

"  I  saw  a  woman  standing  on  the  piazza  of  your  house. 
If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  go  up  there  and  rest  awhile,  for 
I  am  very  much  fatigued  with  my  long  ride,  and,  meantime, 
we  will  talk  a  little  aJbout  the  state  of  things  here.  Mr. 
Wynn  tells  me  you  have  managed  the  place  admirably  since 
you  have  been  here,  and  I  thought  you  would  be  able  to  give 
me  more  direct  information  about  it  than  any  one  else." 

This  compliment,  which  was  intended  to  conciliate,  had 
something  of  its  desired  effect,  for  the  angry  brow  cleared  a 
little,  and  lifting  his  hat  to  scratch  his  head,  —  an  operation 
lor  which  his  long  black  finger-nails  seemed  expressly  adapted, 
—  Mr.  Potter  said,  with  an  awkward  effort  at  politeness, 

"  'T  a' n't  much  of  a  place,  my  house  a 'n't,  but  sich  as  't  is 
you  'r  welcome  to  go  and  sit  down  there  if  you  're  tired.  If 
I  'd  'a  known  you  was  comin',  I  'd  'a  told  the  wench  to  tidy 
up  a  little." 

The  house  refeired  to  stood  a  few  rods  distant,  and  its 
occupant  had  told  but  the  sober  truth  when  he  said  it  was 
not  much  of  a  place.  It  was  a  small  wooden  building,  con- 
taining four  rooms,  two  on  the  ground  floor  and  two  above 
The  unfailing  piazza  surrounded  the  lower  story,  and  the 
windows  were  secured  with  thick  wooden  shutters  which  were 


34  IDA     MAY. 

Closed  iu  every  room  ex:-ept  one,  thus  giving  the  house,  front 
which  the  rain  had  long  ago  washed  every  trace  of  paint,  a 
desolate  and  jail-like  aspect,  enhanced  still  further  by  its 
position  in  the  bare  open  field,  destitute  of  a  garden  or  of 
any  tree  or  shrub  to  enliven  its  dark  exterior.  In  Mr.'May- 
nard's  time  there  had  been  trees  before  the  house  and  a 
garden  around  it,  for  the  overseer  who  then  presided  was 
blessed  with  a  wife  and  children,  and  had  some  regard  for 
the  amenities  of  life ;  but  he  had  quarrelled  with  Mr.  Wynn 
sooc  after  Mr.  Maynard  left  the  country,  and  Mr.  Potter, 
who  took  his  place,  was  a  different  sort  of  a  man.  So  the 
trees  had  been  felled,  that  he  might  be  enabled  while  walking 
on  the  piazza  to  view  all  parts  of  the  extensive  field,  and  the 
garden  fence  had  been  burned  for  fuel,  and  the  garden 
ploughed  up. 

When  they  reached  it,  a  bold,  slatternly-looking  mulatto 
girl,  who  was  sitting  on  the  piazza,  engaged  in  mending  some 
of  her  master's  garments,  rose  from  her  chair,  and,  with  a 
curious  stare  at  Ida,  retreated  slowly  within  the  house.  She 
took  the  vacant  seat,  and  Mr.  Potter  perching  himself  on  the 
section  of  a  pine  log,  that  lay  on  the  floor,  she  proceeded  to 
ask  him  questions  about  the  farm,  and  to  ascertain  the  ages 
and  the  capacities  of  the  different  negroes  whom  she  was 
proposing  to  transform  from  "  chattels  personal  "  into  men  and 
women.  He  told  her  what  she  desired  to  know  with  a  sort 
of  surly  good-nature,  and  she  found  him  to  be  a  shrewd  man, 
with  common  sense  ideas  of  business  matters,  priding  himself 
greatly  on  his  capability  for  saving  money,  and  caring  for 


IDA     MAT.  345 

little  else  in  this  world.  The  conversation  lasted  for  some 
time,  and  Ida  was  surprised,  at  length,  on  looking  at  her 
watch,  to  find  that  it  was  nearly  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
She  rose  hastily,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  vivid  flash  of 
lightning  seemed  to  fall  from  the  heavens  above  them,  and 
a  crashing  peal  of  thunder  was  heard.  Ida  sprang  down  the 
eteps  and  looked  up.  The  house  faced  the  west,  where  the 
sun  was  shining  in  the  cloudless  blue,  and  thus  she  had  been 
wholly  unconscious  of  the  thick  and  heavy  clouds  which  had 
risen  from  the  opposite  quarter,  and  now,  towering  high  in 
the  zenith,  and  piling  themselves  up  in  formidable  array, 
covered  nearly  half  the  sky. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  exclaimed  she,  in  perplexity.  "  If 
I  wait  for  the  shower  to  be  over  it  will  be  too  late  to  reach 
home  before  dark,  and  yet  there  is  no  hope  of  escaping  it  if 
I  start  now." 

"  That 's  a  fact,"  said  Mr.  Potter,  who  now  stood  beside 
her,  and  cast  a  weatherwise  glance  around.  "  This  season  * 
has  come  up  mighty  sudden,  but  we  're  goin'  to  have  a 
stunner  before  it 's  over.  I  should  n't  wonder  if  it  rained  all 
night." 

"  I  should  n't  care  so  much  for  getting  wet,"  said  Ida ; 
"  but  my  horse  is  afraid  of  the  lightning,  and  it  is  really 
ansafe  to  be  among  the  trees  in  such  a  storm." 

"  If  you  wait,  perhaps  Mr.  Wynn  will  send  the  carriage. 
If  I  may  speak  my  mind,  you  'd  'a  done  better  to  come  thai 

*  In  Carolina  "  season  "  is  the  common  term  for  a  she  wer. of  rain. 


<546  IDA    MAY. 

way  in  iho  first  place,  but  't  a'n't  none  o'  my  business,  } 
spose." 

This  remark,  which,  by  recalling  to  Ida  her  morning  con- 
ference with  Mr.  Wynn,  reminded  her  how  entirely  she  must 
now  depend  upon  herself,  decided  her  what  to  do  ;  and, 
springing  upon  her  horse,  she  said, 

"  I  must  trust  to  Providence  to  delay  the  storm  until  I  can 
.get  to  a  place  of  shelter." 

"  There  is  a  tavern  down  in  the  village,  three  miles  or  so 
from  here,  taking  the  fust  right  hand  road  after  you  cross  the 
branch ;  *  but  I  don't  reckon  you  could  even  get  there,  'fore 
the  storm.  It  '11  rain  plough-shares  and  hoe-handles  in  five 
minutes." 

"  I  must  try  it,  nevertheless,"  said  Ida,  who  shrank  instinct- 
>vely  from  spending  the  night  where  she  was ;  but,  as  she 
turned  her  horse's  head  towards  the  road,  she  was  astonished 
to  see  little  Dick  in  a  wagon  standing  half  way  between  the 
house  and  the  entrance  of  the  farm,  from  which  Venus  wa,s 
just  alighting,  bearing  in  her  arms  a  large  carpet-bag.  Rid 
ing  rapidly  up  to  them,  she  heard,  as  she  came  near,  the  loud, 
shrill  tones  of  Venus,  exclaiming, 

"Now  I  say  you  shall  stay  till  I  can  speak  to  Miss  Ida. 
P'raps  mought  be  she  like  to  go  home  with  yer." 

"  No,"  said  Dick,  "  you  don't  cotch  dis  chile  stopping  for 
nothin'  in  dis  place,  when  Mass'  llichard  tell  him  not,  witl 
dat  ar"1  look  on  he  face.  Let  go  de  hos  head,  yer  ole  fool !  " 
nnd,  giving  the  animal  a  cut  with  the  whip,  which  also  fell 

*  That  is.  brook. 


IDA     MAY.  347 

partly  on  Venus'  hand,  the  sable  Jehu  wheeled  around  and 
drove  away. 

'  What  can  be  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  thought  Ida,  with  r. 
sudden  faintness  of  heart,  that  was  not  at  all  alleviated  by  the 
expression  of  Venus'  face  as  she  turned  to  her. 

'What  ar'  all  dis  sher  'bout?"  she  exclaimed.;  "what  yer 
bsen  doin'  make  Mass'  Richard  mad  ?  Bress  de  honey,  I  'se 
do  wish  she  let  de  brack  folks  'lone,  not  be  all  time  gettin' 
into  scrapes  !  "  she  added,  in  a  tone  of  vexation.  "  'Spose 
it 's  sumthin'  'bout  Maum  Abby,  a'n't  it  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  mauma.  How  came  you  here  ?" 
replied  Ida,  feeling  ready  to  cry,  at  the  dilemma  to  which  she 
was  reduced. 

"  How  cum  I  here  ?  Mass'  Richard  send  me,"  said  Venus, 
"  He  look  like  thunder  cloud,  and  say,  '  Go  put  up  Miss  Ida's 
night-dress,  and  get  ready  to  ride  with  Dick.'  —  '  Whar  ar' 
she,  massa  ? '  I  say.  Den  he  scowl,  and  say,  '  No  matter  ; ' 
and  tell  me  give  you  dis  note,  and  .tell  Dick  leave  me  here 
and  go  right  straight  home." 

She  handed  Ida  a  note,  as  she  spoke ;  and,  opening  it  with 
trembling  hands,  she  read  the  following  brief  epistle  : 

"Having  left  the  premises  of  her  guardian,  in  the  most 
unladylike  and  contumacious  manner,  Miss  May  will  see  the 
propriety  of  not  returning  until  she  shall  be  requested  to  do 
*>  by  some  member  of  his  family." 

Cruel  !  tyrannical !     What  shall  I  do  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 
30 


348  IDA     MAT. 

in  distress ;  and  a  few  hot  tears  fell  on  the  paper  as  sh« 
crushed  it  in  her  hand,  indignantly. 

Meantime,  swift  as  winged  messengers  of  wrath,  black  as 
Tartarean  gloom,  the  clouds  had  spread  over  towards  the 
west,  and  the  sunlight  was  growing  dim.  The  air  had  become 
heavy  and  oppressive,  and  an  ominous,  death-like  stillness 
brooded  over  the  earth,  like  the  calm  with  which  a  brave  soul 
awaits  the  stroke  of  doom.  There  was  a  distant  flash,  a  long, 
low  peal  of  muttering  thunder,  and  then,  from  directly  above 
them,  there  darted  a  blinding,  enveloping  glare,  and  a  tree, 
tfhich  stood  by  the  gate  a  few  rods  distant,  fell  to  the  ground 
shivered  into  a  thousand  fragments.  Ida's  horse  reared  and 
plunged  violently  forward,  and  it  was  with  great  difficulty 
that  she  mastered  him,  and  retained  her  seat ;  but  the  sudden 
shock,  and  the  violent  physical  exertion,  restored  her  self 
possession,  and.  beckoning  to  Venus  to  follow,  she  rode  back 
to  the  house. 

She  sprang  from  her  horse,  who,  snorting  wildly,  dashed 
away  the  moment  he  felt  himself  free,  and,  running  up  the 
steps  of  the  piazza  where  Mr.  Potter  was  standing,  who  had 
been  an  amazed  spectator  of  her  meeting  with  Venus,  she 
said  to  him,  hurriedly, 

"  You  see,  we  must  stay  here  to-night.  It  would  be  wild 
to  brave  this  storm." 

"  Is  that  your  servant  with  the  big  bag  ? "  the  man  asked. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ida.  "  You  can  accommodate  us  in  somti 
way,  I  hope." 

*  You  '11  have  to  put  up  with  what  you  can  get,  I  reckon," 


IDA     MAY.  d4y 

said  the  man,  with  a  short,  insolent  laugh.  "  I  don't  feel 
right  sure  that  you  're  what  you  pretends.  It  looks  powerful 
strange  for  one  o'  Mr.  Wynn's  young  ladies  to  be  comin'  here 
this  way,  and  he  as  proud  as  the  devil.  Likely  story  you 
b'long  to  him  !  " 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  Ida,  earnestly,  concealing  her  fear  of 
his  rude  manner  as  well  as  possible,  "  I  assure  you  it  is  as  I 
aave  said.  I  had  no  idea  of  remaining  when  I  came,  but  now 
[  must  stay,  and  you  surely  will  own  my  right  to  a  lodging  in 
my  own  house." 

"  If 't  is  yourn,  you  're  welcome  to  the  whole  on 't,  rats  and 
all,"  he  answered,  with  another  of  those  disagreeable  laughs, 
that  made  his  listener  tremble,  while  they  angered  her.  "But 
how  am  I  to  know  it 's  yourn  ?  Here  you  come  fust,  and 
then  your  gal  with  this  truck,"  he  added,  kicking  the  bag 
which  Venus  had  now  laid  on  the  floor  beside  her.  "  It  looks 
mighty  like  you  'd  been  turned  out  doors,  neck  and  heels ; 
and  I  reckon  you  '11  find  yourself  mistaken,  if  you  think  I  'm 
goin'  to  have  any  impostors  comin'  here  orderin'  me  round 
and  interferin'  and  askin'  questions." 

Ida  was  ready  to  sink  with  chagrin  and  fear ;  but,  control- 
ling herself,  and  speaking  firmly,  though  her  face  was  white  as 
marble,  and  her  lips  seemed  stiffening,  she  answered, 

"Your  language  is  somewhat  rough,  but  I  think  you  cannot 
mean  what  you  say.  You  surely  would  not  turn  away  any  one 
from  your  door  in  such  a  storm  as  this ;  and  you  must  know, 
Jhat,  even  if  Mr.  Wynn  has  refused  me  his  house,  I  am  no  lose 


S50  IDA    MAY. 

the  owner  of  this  property,  and  of  that  fact  I  can  bring  abun- 
dant proof." 

In  his  excitement,  Mr.  Potter  had  not  thought  of  this.  He 
had  so  long  regarded  Mr.  Wynn  as  the  director  of  affairs,  that 
it  was  hard  for  him  to  realize  the  ownership  of  another  ;  and, 
puzzled  as  he  was  respecting  his  unexpected  guests,  he  bit  his 
lip,  and  turned  sulkily  away,  while  Ida  and  Venus  entered 
the  house. 

It  was  a  wretched-looking  place.  The  hall  was  half  filled 
with  pine  knots  and  sticks  cut  for  firewood,  and  though  the 
mulatto  girl,  apprehensive  that  Ida  would  enter,  had  hastily 
swept  up  the  floor  of  the  only  room  inhabited,  and  made  some 
slight  attempt  at  order,  she  had  not  succeeded  in  hiding  its 
dreary  discomfort.  But  there  was  little  inclination  to  note 
this  now.  The  lightning  had  become  incessant,  and  the  un- 
natural darkness  of  the  hour  was  lighted  with  a  lurid  glare 
that  clothed  everything  within  the  room,  and  all  the  land- 
scape without,  in  a  weird  purple  light,  indescribably  awful. 
The  thunder  rolled  and  reverberated,  coming  continually  nearer 
with  its  loud,  heavy  crashing,  until  the  whole  house  shook, 
and  the  very  earth  seemed  to  tremble ;  and  then,  suddenly, 
swiftly  as  if  the  foundations  of  the  firmament  were  broken  up, 
down  came  the  deluging  rain. 

The  overseer  had  followed  Ida  into  the  house ;  but,  as  the 
storm"  increased,  he  could  no  longer  disguise  his  fears,  and, 
after  one  or  two  attempts  to  swear  at  the  mulatto  girl,  who 
was  trembling  and  moaning  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the 
room,  he  thr:w  himself  down  on  the  bed  that  stood  on  on  p. 


IDA     MAT.  35  J 

side  the  fireplace,  and,  burying  his  face  in  the  pillow,  remained 
silent  and  motionless. 

Seated  opposite  the  window,  at  a  little  distance  from  it,  Ida 
viewed  the  scene.  She  had  been  harassed  and  distressed 
when  she  entered  the  room,  but  soon  all  that  passed  away. 

X 

Her  hands,  that  lay  in  her  lap,  were  clasped  unconsciously, 
and  with  her  head  bent  a  little  forward,  her  eyes  dilated,  her 
lips  apart,  she  gazed  in  silence  ;  but  she  was  pale  from  excite- 
ment now,  and  not  from  fear.  All  the  enthusiasm,  all  the 
poetical  sensibility  of  her  nature  was  aroused ;  but  what  moved 
her  more  than  all  was  the  appeal  to  her  religious  feelings. 
The  lightnings,  whereby  it  seemed  as  if  an  invisible  hand  was 
writing  mysterious  truths,  in  sharp,  jagged  characters,  on  that 
dark  wall  of  cloud ;  the  livid  radiance,  that  quivered  through 
the  air,  and  ran  along  the  ground,  amid  the  dashing  of  the 
fast-falling  rain ;  the.  shock  of  the  thunder,  sounding  and 
reechoing  from  every  part  of  the  heavens ;  all  this  tumult  and 
strife  of  the  elements  spoke  to  her  of  God ;  and  before  this 
display  of  his  power  her  soul  exulted  and  expanded  with  a 
sublime  faith.  She  felt  his  presence.  She  heard  his  voice. 
In  the  rushing  tempest  he  addressed  her,  and  as  she  listened 
she  was  no  longer  afraid.  That  God,  whose  will  alone  controls 
these  agencies,  beneath  which  the  gigantic  products  of  nature, 
and  the  mighty  works  of  the  human  race,  are  cast  down  and 
destroyed,  and  at  whose  lightest  touch  man  shrinks  and 
shrivels  like  a  leaf,  was  he  not  able  to  deliver  her  from  the 
snares  that  had  been  laid  for  her,  from  the  dangers  and  evila 
that  beset  her  path  ?  Her  whole  being  was  bowed  in  ador» 


3  >2  IDAMAT. 

tion,  as  the  glory  of  his  majesty  was  thus  revealed,  and  hei 
heart  was  filled  with  confidence  and  peace.  Half  uncon- 
sciously, she  chanted,  in  a  low  voice,  those  words  that  were 
sung  in  clarion  tones  of  triumph,  long  ago,  among  the  hill? 
cf  Judea : 

"  Then  the  earth  shook  and  trembled, 
The  foundations  also  of  the  hills  moved  and  were  shaken., 
Because  He  was  wroth 
There  went  up  a  smoke  out  of  his  nostrils, 
And  fire  out  of  his  mouth  devoured. 
He  bowed  the  heavens  also  and  came  down, 
And  darkness  was  under  his  feet. 
He  made  darkness  his  secret  place. 
His  pavilion  round  about  him  were  dark  waters 
And  thick  clouds  of  the  skies. 
The  Lord  also  thundered  in  the  heavens, 
The  Highest  gave  his  voice  ;  hailstones  and  coals  of  fire. 
At  the  brightness  that  was  before  him  his  thick  clouds  passe-1  ,• 
Hailstones  and  coals  of  fire. 
He  sent  from  above,  he  took  me, 
He  drew  me  out  of  many  waters, 
He  brought  me  forth  also  into  a  large  place, 
He  delivered  me,  because  he  delighted  in  me." 

After  an  hour  of  incessant  fury,  the  storm  abated  a  little. 
The  lightning  became  less  vivid  and  incessant,  and  the  house 
ceased  to  rock  with  the  violent  concussion  of  the  thunder 
peals.  The  overseer  rose  from  his  bed,  and  stretching  him- 
self as  if  he  had  been  asleep,  though  no  one  could  have  slum- 
bered in  fhe  midst  of  that  noise,  he  came  to  the  fireplace, 
where  4  few  embers  were  still  burning,  and  laying  his  hand 


IDA     MAY.  353 

with  no  gentle  touch  on  the  shoulder  of  the  girl,  who  was  still 
crouching  there,  he  said,  with  an  oath, 

"  Why  don't  you  get  up  and  go  about  your  business,  you 
hussy  ?  Don't  you  see  it 's  most  dark  ?  What  you  scared 
at  ?  There  's  been  a  devil  of  a  row,  to  be  sure,  but  we  've  all 
lived  through  it,  and  I  reckon  we  shall." 

'  I  be  n't  scare,"  said  the  girl,  as  she  lifted  her  head.  "  I 
was,  to  de  fust,  but  I  be  n't  scare  now ;  —  but  dat  ar'  miss 
am  lookin'  out  de  winder,  and  she  won't  want  it  shet." 

"  Well,  go  out  and  bring  in  the  wood  for  to-night,  then, 
and  we  '11  see,"  replied  the  man.  "  I  reckon  I  'm  master 
here,  yet." 

The  girl  did  as  she  was  commanded  ;  and,  meantime,  a  few 
low-spoken,  rapid  words  of  explanation  passed  between  Ida 
and  Venus,  for  the  latter,  knowing  that  her  mistress  liked  to 
be  left  to  her  own  thoughts  unmolested,  at  such  a  time  as 
this,  and  having  learned  from  her  example  a  certain  fearless- 
ness of  the  electrical  phenomena,  very  unusual  with  persons 
of  her  clasu,  had  refrained  from  the  questions  she  longed  to 
ask,  and  s<tt  silently  on  the  floor  at  Ida's  feet,  until  Mr.  Pot- 
ter's coarse  voice  broke  the  spell,  and  called  her  thoughts  back 
from  the  higli  regions  whore  they  had  wandered. 


Oil  AFTER    XIV, 

•*  It  g'ves  .ae  wcnder  great  as  niy  coiitoiit 
To  Jee  ycu  here  before  me.    0,  my  sjui's  joy  ! 
If  after  every  tempest  come  such  calms, 
May  the  winds  blow  till  they  have  wakened  death  !  " 

OTHELLO. 

WHEN  the  mulatto  girl  had  brought  in  quite  a  quantity 
wf  wood  from  the  hall,  she  locked  and  bolted  the  outer  door, 
and  then  entering  the  room,  closed  that  door  also  carefully 
behind  her,  securing  it  with  two  wooden  bars,  which  crossed 
it  at  the  top  and  near  the  floor,  fitting  into  iron  sockets  in 
the  casement.  Somewhat  startled,  and  wondering  to  see  such 
precaution  that  seemed  excessive,  Ida  asked  Mr.  Potter  why 
he  had  his  door  so  securely  fastened ;  but  lie  was  stooping 
down  over  the  fire  which  he  was  kindling,  and  pretended  not 
to  hear  her. 

The-  girl  then  lit  a  yellow  candle,  which  she  placed  in  a 
battered  brass  candlestick,  and  then,  approaching  the  window 
she  put  out  her  hand  to  close  the  shatter. 

"  Don?t  you  do  dat,"  said  Venus,  interposing.  "  Miss  Ida 
fillers  likes  to  look  out  when  cle  lightnin'  shine." 

"  It  dark,"  said  the  girl ;  "  we  allers  shots  'em  at  dark." 


IDA     MAY.  355 

"  Leswe  it  a  little  while  longer,"  said  Ida,  gently.  She 
felt  an  undefined  dread  of  being  barricaded  thus  in  this 
small  room  with  such  companions. 

"  It  dark  now  !  "  persisted  the  girl.  "  Dey  alicrs  comes 
and  looks  in  ef  we  leaves  'em  open  ater  dark." 

!:  Dey!  who  dey  be?  "  asked  Venus,  still  keeping  hold  of 
the  window. 

"  Dey  looks  in,  I  say,"  repeated  she.     "  Let  me  shet  'em." 

"  Who  be  dey  ?  What  harm  dey  do  when  dey  looks  in  ?  " 
said  Venus. 

"  Dey !  why  de  ghosts,  you  stupid  nigger  !  "  retorted  the 
other,  bluntly.  "  Dey  allers  comes  'bout  dis  time,  ef  I  don't 
shet  'em." 

Venus  retreated  a  little,  and  looked  with  a  bewildered  air 
at  the  window  and  then  at  the  girl ;  but  she  rallied  in  a 
moment,  and  said, 

"  Ghosts !  de  a'n't  no  sich.  My  miss  say  dere  a'n't,  you 
fool ! " 

"  Dey  is,  too  !  "  replied  the  girl,  with  an  earnest  air,  as  if 
she  fully  believed  her  own  words.  "  Dey  all  'bout  dis  yer 
house  nights.  0  Lor !  we  hears  'em  de  whole  time,  trampin' 
and  poundin'.  0  Lor !  you  wait !  " 

"  But  did  you  ever  see  them  ?  "  asked  Ida.  ''  Are  you 
sure  it  is  not  the  rats  you  hear  ?  " 

"  See  'em  !  0  Lor !  miss,  yes,"  replied  she.  "  Many  time, 
ater  dark,  I  'se  seed  'em  come  an'  flat  dere  noses  'gainst  de 
winder,  lookin'  in.  Dat  de  reason  we  allers  shet  de  shettei 
when  come  dark.  0  Lor !  I  'so  seed  'em  heap  o'  time  !  " 


350  IDA     MAT. 

"  I  leckou  they  won't  come  to-night,  anyway,"  said  Ida 
who  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  ludicrous  idea  of  a  ghosl 
flattening  its  nose  •  "  and  I  prefer  to  have  the  window  left 
opeu.  The  room  will  be  very  close  with  it  shut.' 

The  girl  looked  round  at  her  master  in  perplexity,  but  he 
broke  out  with  a  string  of  oaths,  and  bade  her  shut  the 
fthutter  and  not  stand  there  fooling,  but  come  and  get  supper. 
He  never  commenced  a  sentence  without  swearing,  but  his 
profanity  seemed  more  than  ever  horrible  in  contrast  with  his 
craven  fear  during  the  hour  previous. 

Having  closed  and  barred  the  window,  as  she  had  done  the 
door,  the  girl  brought  forth  a  few  broken  dishes,  from  a  small 
closet  over  the  fireplace,  and  proceeded  to  get  the  supper 
ready.  Mr.  Potter  sat  smoking  a  short  pipe  in  dogged 
silence,  fortunately  sitting  so  near  the  wide  chimney  that 
the  draft  carried  most  of  the  offensive  smoke  out  into  the 
open  air.  Ida  addressed  one  or  two  remarks  to  him,  but  he 
would  not  answer,  and  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor.  The 
girl  seemed  to  take  the  cue  from  her  master,  and  her  bold, 
insolent  replies  were  even  more  offensive  than  his  taciturnity  ; 
BO,  after  a  few  efforts,  they  gave  up  the  attempt  at  conversa- 
tion, and  looked  on  in  silence  while  the  girl  fried  some  bacou 
and  made  some  tea,  and  placing  on  the  table  some  black, 
hard-looking  corn  cakes,  announced  that  supper  was  ready. 

The  man  drew  his  chair  up  to  the  table  when  he  heard 
this,  and  turning  to  Ida  said  gruffly, 

"  If  you  want  some  supper,  you  better  move  up.  Now 
you  're  here,  I  'spose  you  may  as  we1!  eat." 


IDA    MAY.  357 

Before  Ida  could  reply,  Venus,  whose  wrath  had  been 
gathering  at  the  various  insults  offered  her  mistress,  started 
to  her  feet,  exclaiming, 

"Dat  de  way  you  talk  to  my  miss?  You  old  cantankerous 
creatur',  don't  you  know  she  your  miss  too  ?  You  set  down 
fust  'thout  waiting  for  her  !  .  You  'd  wait  till  she  got  through 
'fore  you  'd  eat  a  mouthful,  ef  you  know'd  what 's  manners. 
You  'spose  my  miss  eat  sich  trash  as  dat !  'Nuff  to  make  a 
uigger  sick  to  look  at  it !  " 

"  Hush,  Venus  !  do,"  exclaimed  Ida,  greatly  distressed  as 
she  saw  the  effect  of  these  rash  words. 

"  0,  let  her  go  on  !  let  her !  she  better  try  it !  She  better 
stick  up  her  nose  at  me !  I  a'n't  going  to  play  second  fiddle 
to  no  woman,  while  niggers  is  round,  and  I  a'n't  noways 
sure  neither  of  yer  is  what  you  pretend  to  be.  Yer  better 
not  provoke  me;  I  can  manage  both  of  yer." 

Venus  was  going  on  with  her  defiant  anger,  but  the  ex- 
pression of  fear  and  trouble  on  Ida's  face  restrained  her,  and 
she  sat  down  again  abruptly,  turning  her  back  to  him. 

"  Don't  mind  her,"  said  Ida,  who,  feeling  herself  wholly 
in  the  power  of  this  rude  being,  was  anxious  to  conciliate 
him.  As  she  spoke,  she  drew  her  chaii  nearer  the  table,  and 
endeavored  to  eat  something,  that  he  might  not  think  she 
disdained  his  surly  hospitality,  at  the  same  time  forcing  her- 
self to  talk  of  events  connected  with  Mr.  Wynn  and  his 
family,  both  to  divert  his  attention  from  Venus  and  also  to 
impress  him,  in  this  indirect  manner,  with  the  idea  that,  in 
spite  of  the  circumstances  that  had  aroused  his  suspicion  she 


S58  I  ^  A     MAY. 

was  really  the  owner  of  the  farm  on  which  he  lived,  and  it 
would  be  for  his  interest  to  treat  her  well.  But,  as  he  rose 
from  the  table  aftei-  finishing  his  meal,  he  reached  over 
towards  her  to  take  a  piece  of  bread  from  a  plate  beside  her, 
and  she  discovered  that  his  breath  smelled  strongly  of  some 
intoxicating  liquor.  Her  heart  sank  within  her.  This,  then, 
explained  the  reason  why  he  had  grown  increasingly  rude ; 
and  here  she  was,  far  from  all  help,  shut  up  with  a  half- 
tipsy  savage,  and  a  girl  who  seemed  capable  of  being  his  ac- 
complice in  any  wickedness,  with  only  Venus  to  aid  her  in 
any  scene  that  might  ensue. 

A  wild  fear  thrilled  her  soul.  She  rose  from  her  chair,  with 
a  sudden  determination  to  go  forth  into  the  darkness  and  the 
night  storm,  rather  than  remain  where  she  was ;  but,  as  she 
stooped  to  whisper  to  Venus,  a  peal  of  thunder  burst  from  a 
cloud  so  near  that  the  reverberation  shook  the  house  as  if  a 
heavy  ball  had  been  rolled  against  it,  and  every  one  in  the 
room  stood  breathlessly,  half  expecting  the  walls  to  fall  to 
pieces  around  them.  The  tempest  had  returned  upon  them 
in  greater  fury  than  ever,  and  though  they  were  too  closely 
shut  in  to  see  the  lightning,  they  could  hear  the  hissing  and 
howling  of  the  storm  in  momentary  pauses  when  the  thunder 
grew  more  distant.  It  would  be  death  to  go  abroad  then, 
on  foot  and  unprotected  as  she  was :  but  to  remain  all  night 
where  she  was  seemed  impossible.  Compelling  herself  to 
assume  a  calmness  of  manner  she  was  far  from  feeling,  she 
approached  Potter;  who  was  sitting  before  the  fire  with  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  face  covered  with  his  hands,  and 


IDA     MAY.  359 

said  to  him,  "  Is  there  no  other  room  in  this  t  ouse  where 
your  servant  or  Venus  can  build  a  fire,  so  that  I  can  stay 
there  to-night  ?  You  told  me  that  there  was  no  furniture 
anywhere  but  here,  but  you  can  spare  me  a  chair  and  a  light, 
and  I  do  not  care  for  more.  I  shall  not  sleep  any  to-night." 
No,  I  reckon  all  the  sleep  you  got  would  n't  amount  tc 
much,  with  the  creaturs  ther  is  up  there  mutterin'  and  crawlin' 
round  yer,  and  puttin'  their  hands  on  ye,  —  ugh !  cold  as 
ice,"  —  he  added,  with  a  shudder  and  a  half-terrified  look 
round  the  room. 

"  I  'm  not  afraid  of  that,"  said  Ida,  impatiently,  though, 
in  spite  of  herself,  a  thrill  of  superstitious  fear  stole  over  her 
at  his  words.  "  Let  your  girl  show  me  where  to  go,  and 
Venus  and  I  will  take  care  of  ourselves." 

"  She  shan't  do  no  such  thing  !  "  said  the  man,  looking  up. 
'  Nobody  don't  open  them  doors  this  night.  If  you  'd  thought 
on  't  afore  dark,  I  'd  'a  let  you  gone  where  you  was  a  mind. 
If  you  like  the  company  o'  them  creaturs,  you  might  'a  had 
it  for  all  me ;  but  now  you  've  got  to  stay  here,  an'  that 's 
the  hull  on  't,  and  afore  mornin'  I  reckon  you  '11  be  glad 
you  're  where  they  can't  come  in,  if  they  carry  on  like  they 
gen'ly  do  these  times." 

Ida  could  not  help  an  involuntary  shudder  at  his  look  and 
manner,  although,  of  course,  she  had  no  faith  in  the  exisUnco 
of  the  things  he  believed  in.  She  was  about  to  urge  the 
point  again,  but  he  prevented  her  by  saying,  abruptly, 

"  'T  a'n't  no  use  to  talk.     I  won't  have  the  door  opcred, 
and  that  is  the  up  and  down  of  the  matter.     They  're  all 
31 


360  ID*.     MAY. 

round  the  house  by  this  time,  and  you  '11  hear  'ein  muttering 
and  moaning  and  creaking  the  stairs  going  up  and  down,  'f;  re 
long.  If  the  doors  open  they  '11  all  rush  in  here  to  'oncet.  and 
maybe  I  could  n't  get  'em  out  again.  They  driv  me  out  of 
all  the  rest  of  the  house,  but  I  fixed  this  room  so  the  a'n  t 
even  a  key-hole  for  'em  to  get  into,  and  shets  all  up  tight  at 
dark,  and  keeps  a  fire  all  night,  and  snaps  my  fingers  at  'em. 
No,  marm.  You  may  be  mistress  o'  this  house,  but  I  'm 
master,  and  I  won't  have  no  doors  opened  out  o'  this  room 
to-night." 

Having  thus  delivered  himself,  he  resumed  his  position 
with  an  air  of  surly  determination.  The  girl,  after  putting 
away  the  few  dishes  unwashed,  had  sat  down  in  the  corner 
opposite  him,  and,  leaning  her  head  against  the  bedclothes, 
shut  her  eyes  as  if  intending  to  go  to  sleep.  In  the  back 
part  of  the  room,  Venus  was  resting  her  arms  on  the  table, 
and,  with  her  chin  reposing  on  them,  was  gazing  at  the  two 
with  mute  defiance. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said  —  there  could  nothing 
more  be  done.  The  iron  circle  of  necessity  pressed  hard  and 
close  upon  Ida,  and  she  sank  beneath  its  weight.  Her  nerves 
had  been  too  long  and  too  severely  tried,  and  they  were 
yielding  to  the  pressure.  The  glow,  the  ecstasy  of  feeling 
that  first  sustained  her,  had  departed.  The  eye  of  Faith 
grew  dim.  A  sense  of  her  helplessness,  of  her  lone/mess,  of 
her  powerlessness,  in  contact  with  these  rude,  coarse  natures, 
-  of  the  insults  she  had  received,  of  the  unknown  wrongs  she 
feared.  —  a  feeling  of  isolation,  as  if  she  were  cut  off  foreve/ 


IDA     MAY  86j 

from  huma»:  love  or  succor,  as  if  she  were  a  worthless  thing 
flung  forth  to  buffet  the  cold  waves  of  life,  only  to  be  over- 
whelmed and  sink  at  last,  —  all  this  came  over  her  in  the 
moments  that  succeeded,  and  her  courage  died. 

She  looked  round  on  the  miserable  room,  with  its  bare 
walls  hung  with  cobwebs,  its  unpainted  and  dirty  floor,  its 
scanty  furniture  and  its  degraded  occupants,  and  she  thought, 
with  a  strange,  dreary  pity  for  herself,  that  this  was  the  only 
place  she  could  claim  as  home.  She  realized,  with  a  keen 
pang,  how  different  her  situation  might  have  been.  She 
remembered  what  she  had  been  told  of  her  parents,  and  the 
doating  love  and  care  that  would  have  surrounded  her,  had 
they  lived ;  and  of  her  kind  guardian,  whose  death  had  im 
posed  upon  her  the  duties  that  had  exposed  her  to  such 
changes  and  such  trials.  How  relentlessly  had  Death  pursued 
her !  How  completely  had  differing  causes  stripped  her  of 
all  her  friends  !  0,  why  must  she  be  thus  dealt  with  ?  Why 
must  all  the  bitterness  of  life  be  gathered  in  the  cup  held  to 
her  lips  ?  Why  must  she  sit  in  the  cold  shadows,  and  see 
others  beautiful  and  beloved,  and  bearing  off  carelessly  al] 
that  would,  if  hers,  have  been  more  to  her  than  life  ? 

A  wild  and  bitter  feeling  of  rebellion  seized  her, — an  awful 
mistrust  of  the  divine  goodness  and  love.  Her  soul  cried  out 
with  a  fierce  and  piercing  cry,  for  the  friends  she  had  lost,  for 
the  hope  that  was  fled,  for  the  love  that  had  passed  by  her 
to  be  unworthily  bestowed.  Alone  and  helpless,  she  felt,  aa 
she  had  never  felt  before,  a  craving  for  affection,  for  support, 
for  protection ;  a  desire  to  give  up  all  struggle  a  shrinking 


362  IDA     MAY. 

from  further  sacrifice ;  a  longing  for  a  strong  arm  on  which 
to  lean,  for  a  hand  to  guide  her  ;  a  restless,  desperate  wish  tc 
free  herself  from  the  present,  which  girded  her  with  realities 
too  fearful,  and  to  be  released  from  the  future,  with  whose 
responsibilities  she  felt  unable  to  cope. 

Yenus,  who  had  been  relieving  her  grief  and  anger  by  a 
long  fit  of  crying,  began  at  length  to  wonder  at  the  silence  of 
her  young  mistress,  and,  on  looking  up,  she  was  startled  at 
her  attitude  and  expression.  There  was  an  ashy  whiteness 
in  her  face,  a  ghastly  dimness  in  her  eyes,  that  seemed  fixed 
on  vacancy,  a  weariness  and  despair  in  the  drooping  figure 
which  was  far  unlike  Ida's  usual  sprightly  independence  of 
mien.  She  went  towards  her,  and,  bending  down,  said,  softly, 
"  What  de  matter,  honey  ?  You  faint  ? " 

"  No,  1  'm  not  faint,  but  I  'm  sick,  heart-sick ! "  and  she 
rested  her  head  heavily  against  that  faithful  bosom  which 
sheltered  her  infancy. 

"  Poor  child !  poor  honey  !  "  said  Venus,  kneeling  beside 
Ida,  so  as  to  put  her  arms  around  her.  "  It  do  seem  hard ; 
but  don't  be  too  much  'stressed.  I  make  sure  de  Lord  a'n't 
brung  you  dat  far  t'rough  all  dese  yer  'markable  ways,  to 
leave  yer  in  de  lurch  jes*  here,  where  yer  can't  help  yerself. 
Trus'  in  Him,  honey." 

Ida  sighed  deeply.  She  was  too  utterly  weary  and  dis- 
heartened to  feel  the  consolation  these  words  were  intended 
to  convey.  Venus  drew  her  still  closer  towards  her,  gather- 
ing her  in  her  arms,  and  smoothing  the  dark  curls  that  feU 


IDA     MAY.  363 

her  shoulder,  while  Ida  laid  her  head  there,  as  she  used 
to  do  when  a  child. 

"  We  'se  been  t'rough  heap  o'  narrer  cracks,  honey,"  she 
continued,  "  an'  sometime  'pears  like  de  Lord  did  n't  mind 
nothin'  'bout  us  any  more  ;  but,  'pend  upon  it,  he  allers  hear 
de  poor  creturs  cryin'  to  him,  and,  'fore  we  know'd  it,  he  done 
help  us.  'Pears  like  he  be  'bliged  help  us  mighty  quick,  now, 
an'  I  thinks  he  will,  fur  'pears  like  you  would  n't  get  through 
dis  night  dis  way,  an'  I  'se  allers  noticed  when  de  a'n't  nothin1 
more  we  can  do  ourself,  den  de  Lerd,  he  begin  doin'  some- 
thin'.  Don't  you  be  scare,  honey.  Old  Venus  take  care  of 
ye  till  de  Lord  send  somebody." 

While  she  had  been  speaking,  the  mulatto  girl  had  raised 
her  head,  as  if  listening  to  her,  while  her  sharp,  inquisitive 
glance  rested  on  Ida.  As  she  uttered  the  last  words,  the  girl 
turned  a  little,  to  look  at  the  overseer,  who  still  sat  before 
the  fire,  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hands,  and  a  meaning 
smile  passed  between  them.  In  a  moment  she  rose,  and,  com- 
ing near  him,  said  a  few  words.  He  raised  himself  a  little, 
and  looked  towards  Ida.  "  By-and-by,  may  be,"  he  replied, 
and  the  girl  returned  to  her  seat. 

Ida  had  not  heard  her  words,  but  something  in  her  tone, 
and  in  the  expression  of  the  man's  eyes,  as  he  glanced  at  her4 
made  her  blood  curdle,  and  she  shivered  from  head  to  foot. 
A  dreadful  terror  took  possession  of  her,  —  a  panic  that  it 
seemed  impossible  for  her  to  restrain,  and  it  was  only  by  a 
violent  effort  that  she  refrained  from  shrieking  aiOud.  Venus 
had  her  back  towards  them,  and  had  noticed  nothing;  but 
31* 


364  IDA     MAY. 

Ida,  looking  over  her  shoulder,  saw  that  the  girl  still  contin- 
ued watching  them,  and  that,  occasionally,  the  same  expres- 
sive and  repulsive  glances  passed  between  them  that  at  first 
had  startled  her.  At  length,  however,  the  girl  seemed  sleepy 
again,  and  rested  her  head  against  the  bed.  Then  Ida  whis- 
pered to  Venus,  who  had,  for  a  long  time,  been  silently  sup- 
porting her. 

"  Don't  answer,  —  don't  seem  to  take  notice,  Venus,  —  but 
I  think  they  are  going  to  sleep,  both  of  them,  and  when  I 
give  you  a  sign,  you  spring  up  and  undo  the  window  before 
they  know  it.  We  can  get  out  there  the  easiest !  " 

"  In  this  storm,  honey !  It  '11  kill  ye  !  "  whispered  she,  in 
reply. 

"  I  a'n't  afraid  of  that.  I  know  that  man  means  to  do  us 
harm,  and  I  will  get  away,  if  I  can.  You  '11  do  it  ?  " 

Venus  bowed  assent,  and  again  there  was  a  long  silence. 
The  girl  was  evidently  asleep,  and  the  man's  head  was  drooped 
on  his  bosom.  Ida  raised  herself  gently,  and  Venus  rose  to 
her  feet  to  approach  the  window ;  but,  just  then,  there  was  a 
sound,  as  if  something  heavy  had  fallen  in  the  room  above, 
with  a  jar  that  shook/the  house ;  then  came  a  rolling,  rattling 
noise,  as  if  fragments  of  some  hard  substance  were  being 
thrown  about,  and  a  faint  sound  of  voices  was  heard  above 
all  the  noise  of  the  storm.  Every  one  in  the  room  started  to 
their  feet  in  alarm ;  but,  in  a  moment  or  two,  all  was  quiet 
again. 

"  Good  Lor ! "  said  the  girl,  sitting  down  again,  with  a 
frightened  look.  "  Dey  'se  at  it,  now,  sure  nuff.  Bey 


IDA     MAY.  36r 

a  Hers  wus  stcimy  nights,  like  dis,  but  dat  was  uncommon 
powerful !  " 

"  Throw  on  some  fat-wood,  you  fool !  "  said  Potter,  "  and 
make  the  room  lighter.  Do  you  s'pose  we  want  to  be  i  i  the 
dark,  with  them  creturs  'round  ?  " 

The  girl  threw  some  pieces  of  pine  wood  upon  the  embers 
and  soon  a  bright  flame  sprang  up  the  chimney,  and  threw  a 
glow  into  even  the  dingiest  nook  of  the  room. 

"  There,  now,  that  '11  do  'bout  right ! "  continued  he,  as  he 
watched  the  flames ;  and  then,  going  to  the  little  closet,  he 
took  down  a  black  bottle,  which  he  raised  to  his  lips,  and 
drank  heartily  of  its  contents. 

Ida  had  stood  leaning  her  slender  form  against  Venus,  and 
looking  at  their  companions  in  alarm  and  fear. 

"  Merciful  heaven  ! "  she  cried,  aloud,  "  how  is  this  to 
end  ? " 

"  'T  won't  end  'fore  mornin',  I  make  sure,"  replied  Potter, 
setting  down  his  bottle ;  "  but  let  'em  kick  up  their  row,  if 
they  want  to.  I  a'n't  scared  of  'em,  long  as  I  have  a  light 
room  and  plenty  of  the  needful." 

"  Dere  dey  is  agin,  —  I  hears  'em  !  "  said  the  girl.  "  Did  n't 
I  tell  yer  dey  was  all  'round  ?  "  she  added,  turning  to  Venus. 
"  In  a  minute  dey  '11  come  thumpin'  on  de  door  !  " 

Hardly  had  she  spoken,  when  a  mingled  sound  of  voices; 
was  heard  again,  and  more  distinctly  than  before,  raised  in  a 
prolonged  shriek,  or  yell,  and,  soon  after,  loud  and  repeated 
knockings  were  heard  in  various  directions  about  the  house. 
Wholly  overcome  with  fear,  Venus,  who  had  hitherto  kept  up 


866  IDA     MAT. 

bravely,  sank  trembling  to  the  floor,  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  aprons.  She  felt  equal  to  protecting  her  mistress  against 
foe&  of  mortal  kind,  but  this  palpable  evidence  of  the  super- 
natural,  unnerved  her.  For  a  few  moments  these  noises  con- 
tinued, mingling  awfully  with  the  thunder  and  the  rain.  Ida. 
almost  paralyzed  with  horror,  stood  listening,  and  watching, 
with  a  mute  prayer  to  Heaven  for  help,  the  movements  of 
the  overseer,  who  was  now  walking  about  the  room,  with 
unsteady  steps,  evidently  emboldened  by  the  new  stimulus  ho 
had  taken,  and  casting  upon  her  glances  that  grew  every 
moment  more  insolent,  when,  suddenly,  steps  were  heard  on 
the  piazza  by  the  window,  against  which  she  was  leaning.  A 
violent  blow  struck  it,  shattering  the  few  remaining  panes  of 
glass,  and  a  voice  —  a  human  voice  —  cried,  angrily,  "Are 
you  all  dead,  here  ?  Wake  up,  and  let  us  in  !  " 

Venus  sprang  to  her  feet,  as  she  heard  it,  and,  casting  one 
quick,  delighted  glance  at  Ida,  attempted  to  undo  the  fasten- 
ing of  the  shutter ;  but  Potter  seized  her  and  dragged  her 
away. 

"  Let  me  'lone  !  "  exclaimed  she  ;  "  dey  a'n't  ghosts,  — 
dey  's  men  dat  's  knockin'." 

"  No  you  don't ! "  said  he ;  "  they  may  knock  much  as 
they  like,  they  won't  get  in  here  this  night,  nor  you  don't  get 
cut,  neither.  I  'm  master  here  !  " 

"  We  '11  see  'bout  dat !  "  cried  Venus  releasing  herself  by 
a  violent  effort ,  and,  giving  him  a  blow  that  £ ent  him  reeling 
halfway  across  the  room,  she  jumped  to  the  window  again, 
»nd  had  taken  down  one  of  the  bars,  when  the  mulatto  girl. 


IDA    MAY.  36  / 

the  quilt  from  the  bed,  threw  it  over  her  head,  and, 
thus  blinded  and  confined,  Venus  wa3  again  pulled  away. 

Ida  sprang  to  her  aid  with  a  piercing  shriek,  and,  in 
another  moment,  tte  shutters  were  forced  open  from  without, 
and  a  man  leaped  in  through  the  window.  Ida  turned  to  her 
deliverer.  It  was  Walter  Varian,  and,  with  a  wild  cry  of 
delight,  she  sprang  forward  into  his  outspread  arms. 

"  Thank  God !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  find  you  safe.'' 

Three  others  had  followed  him  through  the  entrance  he 
had  made,  and,  clasping  close  to  his  heart  the  yielding  form  he 
held,  he  turned  his  pale,  anxious  face  towards  them,  bidding 
them  close  the  shutters  immediately,  for  the  rain  was  driving 
in  sheets  in  upon  them  as  they  stood,  and  then  moving,  so  as 
to  shield  Ida  from  its  effects,  he  said  to  Venus,  who  had  been 
uttering  various  ejaculations  of  thankfulness, 

"  What  was  that  noise  I  heard  ?  Surely  no  one  could  have 
dared  injure  Miss  Ida  !  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?  " 
he  added,  with  a  freezing  terror  in  his  heart,  glancing  at  the 
dismantled  bed,  the  quilt  that  lay  on  the  floor,  the  overturned 
chairs,  that  had  been  knocked  down  in  the  struggle,  and,  fix- 
ing his  eyes  at  length  with  a  stern,  angry  expression,  on  the 
man  and  girl,  who  were  standing  together  near  the  fire.  It 
was  an  infinite  relief  when  Venus  hastened  to  say, 

"  0,  dcse  yer  fools  thinks  dis  ar'  house  is  haunted,  and  so 
dey  would  have  it  you  was  ghosts  knocking,  and  dey 
would  n't  let  me  open  de  winder,  and  when  I  tried  to,  de  gal 
pub  de  quilt  over  my  head,  and  haul  me  away,  and  we  hab  i- 


568  i  r  A  MAY. 

squabble.     Dat  all.     Dey  's  fools ;  but  dry  a'n't  done  nothin 
wus." 

"  You  might  have  known  it  was  I,"  said  Walter,  in  an 
altered  tone.  "  I  thought  you  would  be  on  the  lookout  for 
me,  and  have  the  house  all  lighted,  to  show  me  the  way.  I 
came  near  not  finding  it,  everything  was  so  dark,  and  it  storms 
so  awfully." 

"  I  done  'spected  you,"  said  Venus.  "  1  thought  you 
could  n't  be  sich  a  hyppercritter  as  not  to  come,  when  you  'se 
allers  portended  to  be  sich  friends  wid  Miss  Ida;  but  she 
would  n't  hear  nothin'  'bout  it." 

"  Surely  you  did  not  think  I  could  leave  you  to  bear  this 
dreadful  night  alone  !  "  said  Walter,  with  a  reproachful  ten- 
derness, bowing  his  face  till  it  touched  the  head  that  lay  still 
on  his  bieast,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  intended  for  her  ear 
alone. 

She  made  no  reply.  Her  curls  fell  over  her  face,  so  that 
it  was  hidden  from  his  view,  but  her  quietness,  her  silence, 
and  the  utter  lifelessness  with  which  she  leaned  against  him, 
made  him  start  with  a  sudden  fear.  Raising  his  hand,  ho  put 
back  the  glossy  hair.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  her  face 
was  whiter  than  marble. 

"  She  has  fainted,"  he  exclaimed,  gathering  her  light  form 
n  his  arms,  and  laying  it  gently  down  on  the  quilt  that  was 
spread  out  on  the  floor. 

How  like  a  beautiful  image  of  death  she  looked,  as  she  lay 
.  icre,  so  pale  and  inanimate,  in  the  bright  glow  of  the  fire- 


IDA     MAY.  869 

Kneeling  on  one  knee,  he  bent  over  her;  chafing  her  cold 
hands,  that  could  not  feel  the  palpitating  pressure  of  his  own, 
and  bathing  her  face  with  the  water  which  had  been  brought, 
for  the  superstitious  dread  of  Potter  and  his  servant  could  no 
longer  prevent  the  doors  from  being  opened,  and  soon  she 
breathed  again.  When  her  head  was  lifted  and  laid  on 
Venus'  bosom,  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  a  rich  color  flushed 
her  pale  cheek,  as  she  saw  who  it  was  that  held  her  hands, 
and  gazed  at  her  with  that  strange,  thrilling  expression,  as  if 
his  whole  heart  was  going  forth  from  his  eyes. 

Walter  and  Mabel  had  not  ridden  far  that  morning,  after 
they  had  left  Ida,  before  they  fell  in  with  a  party  of  their 
young  friends,  who  were  on  their  way  to  a  romantic  spot,  some 
miles  distant,  where  they  proposed  having  a  picnic.  Mabel, 
whose  jealousy  of  Ida  made  her  wish  as  much  as  possible  to 
keep  Walter  away  from  her,  yielded  to  their  earnest  invitation, 
and  thus  compelled  the  assent  of  her  preux  chevalier.  The 
morning  was  fine,  the  party  was  gay,  and  soon  Walter's 
chagrin,  at  disappointing  Ida,  who  might  ride  out,  expecting 
to  meet  them,  was  lost  in  the  universal  good-nature  and 
hilarity  that  prevailed. 

Fortunately  for  the  thoughtless  party,  a  negro  boy,  whc 
accompanied  them,  climbed  a  tree  to  look  for  squirrels'  nests, 
and  thus  discovered  the  small  cloud,  which,  at  first,  rose 
slowly  out  of  the  east,  but  which  his  quick  eye  knew  boded  a 
violent  thunder-storm.  They  hurried  to  their  horses,  and 
rode  rapidly  homeward  ind  it  was  not  until  Walter  and 


370  IDA     MAY. 

Mabel  had  left  the  rest  of  the  party,  that  the  storm  broke 
upon  them.  Mabel  was  not  afraid,  for  lack  of  courage  was 
not  among  her  deficiencies;  indeed,  she  rather  enjoyed  the 
excitement,  and  was  gratified  at  Walter's  evident  admiration 
of  her  self-possession  and  skill  in  managing  her  frightened 
steed;  and,  though  both  were  thoroughly  drenched,  they 
arrived  safely  at  home,  full  of  the  high  spirits  which  the 
young  and  healthy  feel  at  overcoming  difficulty  and  danger. 

Five  minutes  before  their  arrival,  Ida's  horse,  that,  impelled 
by  instinct,  had  fled  homeward  with  frantic  haste,  dashed  up 
the  avenue,  and  turned  into  the  stable.  An  old,  half-blind 
servant,  who  happened  to  be  there  alone,  removed  his  wet 
saddle,  and  led  him  to  his  stall,  as  one  of  the  other  hostlers 
passed  through  the  door  on  his  way  to  the  yard.  This  man 
was  standing  near  the  piazza  when  Walter  and  Lis  cousin  rode 
up,  and  ran  to  take  the  horses. 

"  Did  Miss  Ida  go  to  ride  ?  Is  she  at  home  ?  '  he  asked 
hurriedly,  as  he  ran  up  the  steps  after  Mabel. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  she  went,  but  she  come  home  now,  '  was  the 
reply ;  and,  satisfied  on  this  point,  Walter  went  directly  to 
his  own  room,  where  he  changed  his  wet  clothing,  and  made  a 
new  toilet,  before  he  again  descended  to  the  parlor. 

Meantime  Mrs.  Wynn  was  becoming  excessively  alaimcd 
at  Ida's  prolonged  absence.  The  sympathy  of  feeling  which 
had  existed  between  them,  of  late,  had  aroused  far  warmer 
feelings  than  she  had  felt  towards  the  orphan  for  many  years, 
and  after  her  anxiety  for  Mabel  and  Walter  was  removed  by 
their  safe  arrival,  she  had  been  wandering  from  room  to  room, 


IDA     MAY.  371 

looking  out  at  every  door  and  window  wlich  commanded  a 
view  of  the  way  she  should  come,  and,  almost  forgetting  her 
usual  fear  of  these  terrific  storms  in  her  greater  fear  lest 
some  accident  had  happened  to  Ida.  Once  or  twice,  when 
Mr,  Wynn  had  come  out  of  the  library  to  inquire  if  Mabel 
U.id  arrived,  and  to  despatch  a  servant  after  her,  his  wife  had 
ventured  to  mention  Ida's  name,  although  certain  that  it  would 
offend  him ;  but  he  had  replied,  in  a  peremptory  tone,  that 
Ida  was  safe,  and  that  she  need  not  expect  to  see  her  again 
that  night.  Indeed,  he  was  himself  annoyed,  and  a  little 
anxious  at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken,  though  he  was  yet  too 
proud  to  manifest  it. 

When,  in  his  first  flush  of  anger,  as  he  sat  brooding  over 
her  unforeseen  rebellion,  it  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to 
send  Venus  after  her,  with  that  message,  he  did  not  intend 
finally  to  expel  her  from  his  house,  but  only  to  frighten  and 
humble  her.  She  had  been  a  member  of  his  family  so  long, 
that  he  felt  a  perfect  right  to  punish  her  disobedience ;  and, 
just  as  he  would  have  imprisoned  a  child  in  a  dark  closet, 
until  it  promised  to  be  good,  he  determined  to  inflict  this 
chastisement,  which,  by  alarming  her,  and  throwing  her  foi 
a  while  on  her  own  resources,  would  teach  her  how  much  she 
had  overrated  her  ability  to  guide  herself  and  manage  her 
own  affairs,  and  thus  coerce  her  into  submission  to  his  wishes 
with  regard  to  her  conduct.  He  knew  the  house  at  the  Tri- 
angle was  lonely  and  ill-furnished,  and  that  she  would  be  sub- 
jected to  much  inconvenience  and  some  discomfort ;  but  he  had 
no  idea  of  the  trials  to  which  she  was  really  exposed  by  hi« 
32 


37  2  IDAMAT 

rash  act.  He  sent  Venus  to  her,  that  the  proprieties  of  social 
life  might  be  preserved,  and  she  might  not  feel  too  entirely 
alone ;  and  he  carefully  worded  his  note  in  such  a  manner 
that  it  would  not  compromise  his  dignity  to  have  Mabel 
or  Walter  go  over  to  inquire  for  her,  and,  at  length,  when  she 
should  have  been  sufficiently  mortified,  bring  her  to  him  to 
ask  forgiveness  for  her  conduct. 

It  is  but  justice  to  Mr.  Wynn  to  give  this  explanatioh 
of  his  motives.  As  a  lady  and  his  guest,  it  would  havo 
been  impossible  for  him  to  treat  her  so  impolitely,  much  as 
her  ultra  ideas  on  one  subject  had  displeased  him  ;  but  as  a 
perverse  child,  he  claimed  the  right  to  inflict  a  punishment 
proportioned  to  her  offence. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  concealed  agitation,  that  he  marked 
the  fury  of  the  storm,  and  it  was  fortunate  for  Dick  that  hn 
was  a  reckless  fellow,  and  had  driven  home  at  a  perilous  rate, 
whipping  his  horse  all  the  way ;  for,  had  he  made  the  thunder 
or  the  lightning  an  excuse  for  any  delay  until  the  lain  was 
over,  his  master's  irritation  would  have  vented  itself  on  his 
head.  Having  seen  Dick,  who  presented  himself  in  the 
library,  dripping  like  a  young  Triton,  and  ascertained  that  he 
had  left  Ida  and  Venus  together  at  the  Triangle,  Mr.  Wynn 
felt  quite  like  saying,  "  Richard  's  himself  again,"  and,  with 
his  usual  placid  sternness,  he  joined  his  wife  in  the  parlor 
just  as  Walter  entered  by  another  door.  Mabel  was  already 
sitting  by  the  fire,  a  little  pale  from  fatigue,  and  attired  in  a 
blue  silk  neglige,  that  made  her  look  more  beautiful  than 
ever  She  turned  to  Walter  with  a  smile  as  he  entered 


IDA     MAY.  B7o 

She  was  beginning  to  watch  for  his  step,  and  to  tremble  and 
blush  when  she  met  his  gaze.  She  was  beginning  to  think 
Jess  of  absorbing  him  in  blind  devotion  to  her  wishes,  less  of 
commanding  obedience  to  the  whim  of  the  moment.  Involun- 
tarily, now,  her  feelings  took  their  tone  from  his,  as  far  as  it 
was  possible  in  natures  so  different,  and  the  queenly  Mabe1 
was  bowing  her  graceful  neck  to  wear  the  chains  of  her  con- 
queror. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  chilly  after  your  involuntary  shower- 
bath,"  she  hastened  to  say,  as  he  came  near. 

4  0,  no,  thank  you ! "  he  replied  carelessly,  and  then  added 
more  earnestly,  his  fine  eyes  lighting  with  admiration, 
"  and  you,  Ma  belle  !  you  were  quite  a  heroine  in  your  battle 
with  the  elements ;  do  you  suffer  at  all  from  it  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  but  I  am  rather  fatigued,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  slight  blush,  as  she  met  his  ardent  gaze.  It 
had  been  and  was  still  a  great  charm  for  him,  in  Mabel's 
beauty,  that  her  face  and  her  whole  figure  were  so  purely 
statuesque.  She  was  like  a  living,  breathing  piece  of  sculp- 
ture, gratifying  his  enthusiastic  love  of  the  beautiful  every 
time  he  looked  at  her.  All  her  movements  were  graceful ;  each 
new  attitude  seemed  more  charming  than  the  last,  and  either 
of  her  varying  expressions  seemed  for  the  time  that  which  most 
became  her  style  of  features.  It  was  only  when  she  spoke 
that  the  spell  was  broken. 

Walter  was  about  to  reply,  when,  seeing  his  aunt  standing 
near,  as  if  wanting  to  speak,  he  turned  to  her  inquiringly. 

"  0,  I  am  so  anxious  about  Ida !  "  she  said,  as  if  in  reply 


H74  IDA     MAT. 

to  his  question  "  She  has  been  gone  since  twelve  o'clock, 
and  though  Mr  Wynn  says  she  certainly  don't  intend  coming 
home  to-night,  1  know  she  did." 

"  Ida  !  "  exclaimed  Walter ;  "  is  n't  she  at  home  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Mabel;  "but  surely,  there  is  no  need  to 
worry.  Papa  never  speaks  positively,  unless  he  knows." 

11  One  of  the  servants  told  me  she  was  at  home,*'  said 
Walter. 

"It  is  a  mistake,"  replied  Mrs.  Wynn ;  "  and,  what  wor- 
ries me  more  is,  that  I  have  just  discovered  that  Venus 
left  here,  this  afternoon,  in  the  wagon  with  little  Dick." 

"  It  is  certainly  very  strange  !  "  said  Walter,  a  good  deal 
startled ;  but  further  conjecture  was  prevented  by  Mr.  Wynn, 
who,  standing  unnoticed  in  the  door,  had  heard  this  brief 
conversation,  and  now  came  forward,  saying, 

"  I  will  relieve  your  perplexity  ;  Ida  is  safe,  and  Venus  is 
with  her,  but  they  will  not  come  back  here  at  present.  She 
left  the  house  this  morning  in  direct  defiance  of  my  authority, 
and  I  have  sent  her  such  a  message  as  will  prevent  her 
icturn," 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  demanded  Walter,  biting  his  lips. 

"  She  is  at  the  Triangle.  She  went  there  on  an  errand  I 
could  not  approve,  and  I  felt  compelled  to  treat  her  in  such 
a  manier  as  should  show  my  displeasure.  I  am  not  to  be 
insulted,  in  my  own  house,  with  impunity.  She  is  a  mere 
•hild,  and  a  little  discipline  will  do  her  good."  He  said  these 
words  in  a  slow,  calm  manner,  as  if  determined  to  say  nothing 
more  on  the  subiect,"  and,  sitting  down  by  the  table,  took  a 


IDA     MAY.  8/5 

oook.  ]  fc  was  now  quite  dark,  and  the  servants  had  brought 
in  the  lamps.  Mabel,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  Walter, 
rather  anxiously,  saw  him  turn  suddenly,  as  if  to  leave  the 
room. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  :'  she  asked,  divining  his  inten- 
tion. 

"  1  am  going  to  the  Triangle,"  he  replied,  in  the  low  tone 
of  suppressed  passion.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  would  leave  any 
lady,  in  whom  I  felt  interested,  to  brave  the  terrors  she  must 
feel  to-night  in  that  lonely  house  ?  No  ;  she  shall  see  that  sho 
has  one  friend  left  !  " 

"  But  the  storm  !  —  you  cannot  go  out  in  this  storm  !  "  cried 
Mabel  ;  "  it  is  folly  to  think  of  it.  She  is  safe,  we  know,  and 
you  risk  your  life  in  going."  She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and 
going  to  the  door  where  he  stood,  with  his  hand  on  the  lock 
she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  looked  up  in  his  face  ten 
derly  and  beseechingly.  He  was  touched  by  this  manifesta- 
tion of  interest,  and,  pressing  her  hand  furtively,  he  said, 


"  0,  there  is  no  danger  !  I  have  some  water-proof  clothing 
in  which  I  have  many  a  time  defied  the  elements,  and  my 
horse  is  well  trained." 

"  But  the  trees  attract  the  lightning  ;  and  now  the  clouds 
must  be  very  near.  You  know  it  is  unsafe." 

They  had  withdrawn  a  little  from  the  door,  and  were  stand- 

ing in  the  hall  as  she  spoke.      It  was  in  the  height  of  the 

storm,  whose  first  fury  had  not  been  as  violent  here  as  at 

the  spot  where  Ida  met  it  :  and  just  then  a  blinding  sheet  of 

32* 


376  IDA     MAY. 

lightning  seemed  to  glide  between  them,  filling  the  air  with 
ghastly  light,  and  the  house  rocked  with  the  pealing  thunder. 

"  Mercy  !  how  near  it  is !  "  exclaimed  Mabel,  clinging  to 
his  arm. 

"  Still,  I  must  go,"  ho  answered,  passing  his  arm  around 
her  waist,  for  she  trembled  violently. 

"  Is  Ida,  then,  so  very  dear  to  you  that  you  will  endanger 
your  life  for  her  sake  ? "  she  murmured,  almost  inaudibly. 

Walter  looked  surprised,  and  his  brow  flushed.  Never  had 
he  seen  Mabel  in  such  a  mood,  —  so  gentle,  so  affectionate,  so 
humble,  —  and  he  felt  vexed  with  himself  that  it  moved  him 
to  no  greater  emotion. 

"  Do  you  really  wish  me  to  remain  at  home  ?  "  he  said,  at 
length. 

"  I  do,"  she  replied.     "  It  is  unsafe  for  you  to  go." 

Never,  until  the  present  time,  had  Mr.  Wynn  been  afraid 
that  Mabel  would  become  too  much  interested  in  her  cousin  : 
but  something  in  her  manner,  as  she  glided  from  the  roomu 
aroused  his  fears,  and  at  this  moment  he  appeared  beside 
them  in  the  door-way. 

"Are  you  going,  sir,  or  are  you  not  going?"  he  said, 
sternly. 

"  I  am  going  immediately,"  Walter  replied ;  and  then, 
turning  to  Mabel,  who,  at  the  sound  of  her  father's  voice,  had 
started  from  him,  and  now  stood,  pale  but  self-collected,-look- 
ing  earnestly  in  his  face,  he  added,  '  Ida  has  been  like  a  sister 
to  us  both,  you  know,  and  you  cannot  doubt  but  it  is  my  duty 
to  go  take  care  of  har.  She  must  be  glad  of  some  protection 


IDA     MAT.  377 

beside  what  Venus  can  give,  in  that  strange,  lonely  place 
Think,  if  it  were  ycur  situation." 

"  My  daughter  can  never  be  placed  in  such  circumstances," 
said  Mr.  Wynn,  with  frigid  tones  ;  "  but  if  you  choose  to  go 
and  assure  yourself  of  Miss  May's  safety,  go.  You  can  take 
two  or  three  servants  to  aid  you  in  finding  the  way,  for  it  is 
very  dark." 

"  The  lightning  will  show  me  the  way,"  replied  Walter ; 
"  and  I  shall  take  only  my  own  servant ;  any  more  would 
be  a  hindrance  instead  of  a  help." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  returned  Mr.  Wynn  ;  and  taking  his  daugh- 
ter's hand,  he  led  her  into  the  parlor,  and  closed  the  door. 
Mrs.  Wynn  had  glided  softly  out,  as  they  entered.  She  was 
glad  Walter  was  going,  in  spite  of  the  danger  to  which  he 
might  be  exposed,  but  she  shrank  from  saying  so  before  her 
husband.  Since  Alfred's  death,  her  nerves  had  been  in  a 
painfully  shattered  state,  and  she  had  hardly  dared  to  move 
or  speak  in  his  presence,  lest  she  should  betray  the  thoughts 
that  secretly  filled  her  with  sorrow,  and  meet  that  cold,  stern 
look  of  his,  which  now  more  than  ever  threw  her  into  a  ner- 
vous tremor. 

Meeting  Walter  in  the  hall  as  he  came  (iown,  clad  in  his 
water-proof  clothes,  she  gave  him  a  long  message  for  Ida,  fuh 
of  love  a,nd  sympathy,  and  then  adding  numerous  charges 
respfl^P^is  own  precautions  for  safety,  she  left  him  to  find 
his  way  to  the  stables,  where  his  servant  was  already  saddling 
his  horse.  As  he  stood  waiting,  he  chanced  to  see  that  Ida's 
horse  was  standirg  quietly  in  his  stall, 


878  IDA     MAT 

"Ho\?  came  this  horse  here?"  he  exclaimed.  "What 
horse  did  Miss  Ida  ride  ?  " 

"  She  ride  dis  yer,"  said  the  hostler.  "  She  come  in  jes' 
'fore  you  did,  massa." 

"  Are  you  sure  ? "  he  asked,  turning  deadly  pale,  as  he  ran 
his  eye  rapidly  over  the  stalls,  and  saw  that  none  of  the  ani- 
mals were  missing. 

"  Yes,  massa,  I  'se  right  sure.  I  saddle  he  myself,  an'  I  in 
here  when  he  came  gallop  in.  He  know  nuff,  dat  ar  !  He 
no  stop  for  nigger  take  him  in  out  de  rain.  Come  roun'  from 
de  front  door  heself." 

"  No  he  did  n't,"  said  Walter.  "  Miss  Ida  is  not  in  the 
house.  The  horse  must  have  thrown  her,  and  galloped  home 
alone." 

He  leaned  back  helplessly  against  the  wall  as  he  spoke. 
All  the  strength  seemed  to  leave  his  frame,  the  blood  in  his 
veins  grew  chilled,  and  he  saw,  as  in  a  vision,  Ida  lying  alone 
in  the  dark,  gloomy  forest,  helpless,  wounded  and  dying.  He 
had  cheated  himself  with  a  thousand  excuses,  he  had  deceived 
himself  with  a  thousand  theories  of  platonic  love  and  brother- 
ly affection ;  but,  in  that  moment  of  awful  fear,  the  scales  fell 
from  his  eyes,  and  he  realized,  with  a  keen  heart-pang,  that 
he  loved  her,  —  loved  her  with  a  deep  and  passionate  rever- 
ence, that  had  taken  hold  of  his  inmost  being.  What  to  him 
would  be  all  else  that  earth  might  offer,  if  the  brightrv 
that  young  life  were  quenched  forever  ?  Nothing.  He  bowed 
kis  head  on  his  hands,  —  that  proud  h^ad.  that  had  borne 


IDA     MAY.  379 

itself  so  loftily  —  and  a  long,  bitter  groan  burst  from  his  tor 
tured  bosom. 

"  If  she  be  throwed,  it  high  time  somebody  done  go  looked 
arter  her,"  said  the  negro,  whose  slow  brain  had  taken  some 
moments  to  elaborate  the  idea  conveyed  in  Walter's  rapid 
words.  The  sound  of  his  voice  recalled  the  self-possession  of 
the  unhappy  young  man  ;  and  his  servant  coming  at  this  mo- 
ment, to  say  that  all  was  ready  for  their  departure,  he  gave 
hasty  orders  that  two  of  the  servants  from  the  house  should 
follow,  to  aid  in  case  aid  was  required,  and,  springing  upon 
his  horse,  he  dashed  out  into  the  stormy  night. 

Sheltered  somewhat  by  the  trees  that  lined  the  avenue, 
they  did  not  feel  the  full  force  of  the  tempest  until  they 
turned  into  the  open  road,  and  then  they  found  it  almost  im- 
possible to  face  it.  The  lightning  was  almost  incessant,  but 
its  blinding  glare,  alternating  with  the  intense  darkness  that 
succeeded  its  flashes,  made  it  difficult  to  see  the  way ;  and 
the  wind  which  had  now  risen  a  little,  blew  the  sheets  of  rain 
against  them  so  as  almost  to  take  away  their  breath.  Nothing 
but  such  an  anxious  fear  as  possessed  Walter,  could  have 
nerved  any  one  to  persevere  amid  such  a  furious  war  of  the 
elements  ;  but,  thus  excited,  he  struggled  on,  encouraging  his 
servant  to  follow,  and  shouting  now  and  then  to  those  who 
might  come  after  them.  Proceeding  in  this  way,  but  very 
slowly,  being  compelled,  at  short  intervals,  to  shelter  them- 
selves among  the  trees  to  rest,  and  examining  every  object 
by  the  wayside  with  a  sickening  dread  of  finding  what  they 
sought,  they  were  a  long  time  accomplishing  that  part  of  the 


380  11>A    MAT. 

journey  which  lay  between  the  hall  and  the  spot  where  their 
path  led  off  through  the  woods  towards  the  Triangle.  The 
thunder  and  lightning  had  now  grown  somewhat  less  near  and 
frequent,  but  the  wind  was  increasing,  and  the  rain  came 
down  with  a  copiousness  and  force  that  was  ominous  of  a 
second  deluge.  Pausing  to  rest  a  few  moments,  as  they 
turned  into  this  road,  Walter  thought  he  heard  a  voice  in  the 
distance,  shouting,  and  said  to  his  servant, 

"  Let  us  wait  here  a  while.  I  think  I  hear  voices,  and 
it  may  be  the  servants  from  the  hall.  Shout  in  reply  to  them, 
the  wind  will  carry  your  voice  that  way," 

The  negro  did  as  he  was  commanded;  but,  after  listening 
for  reply,  he  said, 

"  No,  massa,  dem  none  our  folks.  I  reckon  dey  's  done 
gone  back,  ef  dey  eber  started  arter  us.  But  dem  voices 
come  up  t'  oder  way,  —  dey  come  on  de  wind.  Hole  yer 
head  out,  massa,  an'  you  see  de  soun'  come  in  dis  ear,"  he 
added,  slapping  the  side  of  his  head  against  which  the  rain 
was  beating. 

Walter  followed  this  advice,  and  found  that  the  voice 
did,  indeed,  come  from  beyond  the  spot  where  they  were 
standing. 

"It  is  somebody  calling  for  help,"  he  said,  debating 
whether  he  ought  to  go  towards  the  spot,  or  continue  his 
search  for  Ida.  At  that  moment,  a  horse,  with  the  wreck 
of  a  carriage  hanging  at  his  heels,  came  racing  by ;  and  he 
no  longer  hesitated,  but,  bidding  his  servant  follow,  again 
braced  himself  against  the  storm.  In  a  little  while  they  saw 


IDA     MAY.  381 

the  remains  of  a  carriage  lying  in  the  road ;  and  the  lightning, 
just  then  illuminating  the  landscape,  showed,  at  some  distance 
down  the*road,  a  negro  waving  his  arms  and  shouting.  Ho 
had  seen  them  before  they  had  perceived  him,  and,  on  reach- 
ing the  place,  they  found  the  body  of  another  man  lying  life- 
less at  his  feet.  Having  ascertained,  by  a  few  questions,  that 
these  were  the  travellers  whose  runaway  horse  and  demolished 
carriage  they  had  seen,  Walter  ordered  the  two  negroes  to  lift 
the  white  man  from  the  ground  where  he  lay,  and  carry  him 
within  the  shelter  of  the  trees ;  and  here  he  found,  to  his 
great  joy,  that  death  had  not  been  the  consequence  of  the 
accident  that  had  overtaken  them.  The  stranger  had  been 
stunned,  and  bruised  a  little,  but  the  act  of  moving  him  re- 
stored the  circulation  of  the  blood,  and  aroused  his  senses,  so 
that  in  a  little  while  he  was  able  to  sit  up  and  speak.  He 
told  Walter  that  he  had  arrived  at  the  tavern,  in  the  little 
Tillage  below,  just  as  the  storm  commenced,  and,  at  first,  had 
determined  to  stay  there  through  the  night ;  but,  being  very 
anxious  to  reach  the  end  of  his  journey,  he  had  become  rest- 
less, and  at  length  hired  this  negro  to  take  him  in  a  carriage 
to  the  plantation  where  he  wished  to  go.  The  wind  favoring 
them,  they  had  gone  quite  rapidly  along,  until  the  horse, 
taking  a  sudden  fright,  had  upset  the  carriage  and  thrown 
them  out.  Walter  told  him  he  might  ride  his  servant's 
horse,  if  he  chose  to  come  with  him,  and  he  could  conduct 
him  to  a  place  of  shelter,  which,  though  at  some  distance, 
was  nearer  than  the  village  behind  him.  This  offer  was 


382  TDA    MAY. 

accepted  gratefully,  and  the  two  gentlemen  had  in  this  way 
<•    arrived  at  the  Triangle,  followed  by  the  negroes  on  foot. 

While  in  the  shelter  of  the  trees,  they  had  come  on  with 
comparative  ease ;  but  when  they  came  out  into  the  wide,  open 
field,  they  were  completely  bewildered,  and  it  was  their  shouts 
to  one  another  that  had  been  mistaken,  by  the  superstitious 
Potter,  for  unearthly  voices.  At  length,  just  when  the  dark- 
ness was  most  intense,  the  lightning  having  nearly  ceased, 
though  the  thunder  still  rolled  in  the  distance,  the  top  of  the 
chimney  blew  down,  and  the  bright  flame,  which  the  fire  of 
light  wood  sent  out  of  the  orifice,  revealed  to  them  the  house 
they  were  seeking.  All  else  was  perfect  darkness,  and,  aston- 
ished to  see  no  symptoms  of  life  within,  they  had  attacked 
various  parts  of  the  house,  with  little  saccess,  until  the 
stranger,  who  accompanied  Walter,  had  found  the  window 
against  which  Ida  was  leaning. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  no  little  alarm  that  Walter  became 
aware  that  some  one  from  within  was  preventing  the  opening 
of  the  window,  and  heard  Ida's  cry  of  distress.  He  had  bees 
quite  reassured  by  finding  no  traces  of  her  along  the  way  : 
but  now  an  undefined,  horrible  dread  of  the  treatment  she 
might  have  met  with  in  this  desolate  place  almost  maddened 
him,  and,  exerting  a  strength  of  which  he  had  not  supposed 
himself  capable,  he  had  burst  open  the  shutters,  and  no  words 
can  tell  the  revulsion  of  feeling  with  which  he  stretched  hia 
hands  towards  her,  and  clasped  her  to  his  heart. 

There  had  never  been  between  them  those  fraternal  famili 
%rities  which  their  early  connection  might  have  warranted,  — 


IDA     MAY.  883 

or,  c\cti  in  childhood,  Ida  had  been  chary  of  her  cai esses,  — 
and  this  act  of  hers  had  told  him,  more  than  any  words  could  do, 
liow  much  she  had  suffered,  and  how  high-wrought  had  beer, 
lier  excitement  of  feeling. 

In  t?*e  Cr,-;t  moments  of  awakening  consciousness,  Ida  was 
sensible  oaly  of  a  vague  and  exquisite  sensation  of  relief  from 
some  impeading~evil,  and  a  certainty  of  safety  and  protection : 
and  she  looked  dreamingly  upon  the  face  that  bent  over  her, 
without  a  wish  to  move  or  speak.  But  "Walter  aroused  her. 
In  a  tone  the  tenderness  of  which  could  not  be  mistaken,  he 
said  gently, 

"I  have  been  dreadfully  frightened  about  you,  Ida. 
How  nould  you  think  I  would  not  come  to  you  ?  " 

Then  a  quick  rush  of  recollections  came  over  her,  and  she 
started  from  her  recumbent  position,  and  withdrew  her  hands 
from  his  grasp.  He  seemed  hurt  that  she  did  so,  and  in- 
sisted that  she  should  remain  quiet ;  but  she  had  now  seen 
the  strangers  who  were  present,  and,  declaring  that  she  wat> 
as  strong  as  ever,  she  persisted  in  rising  to  her  feet. 

"Be  it  so,  then,"  said  Walter,  half  pettishly.  "You 
always  were  wilful,  and  I  always  had  to  yield  to  you,  Ida." 

The  stranger  had  been  standing  quietly  before  the  fire 
during  all  this  time.  He  was  a  tall  man,  with  a  face  that, 
had  evidently  been  bronzed  beneath  tropical  skies,  and  a  keen 
black  eye  that  had  not  lost  its  fire,  though  his  hair  was  gray 
and  his  brow  was  furrowed.  Yet  something  in  his  appear 
ance  indicated  a  degree  of  strength  and  vigor  inconsistent 
with  these  tokens  of  age  ;  and,  as  Walter  looked  at  him 
33 


384 


IDA     MAT. 


standing  in  the  waru  light  of  the  blazing  pine  knots,  he  wa* 
struck  with  a  certain  agitation  in  his  manner,  and  the  eager- 
ness with  which  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  fair  young  girl, 
who,  blushing  a  little  to  find  herself  so  much  the  centre  of 
observation,  and  yet  languid  with  the  ordeal  she  had  under- 
gone, had  just  seated  herself  in  the  chair  he  had  placed  for 
her  by  the  chimney-corner.  Leaning  back  against  Venus 
who  stood  behind  her, — with  her  eyelids  drooping  a  little, 
showing  distinctly  their  long  dark  lashes,  her  dishevelled 
curls  brushed  back  from  her  broad  low  brow,  and  revealing 
the  outlines  of  her  face  clearly  in  the  radiance  of  the  fire- 
light, —  she  looked  like  a  beautiful  picture.  But  it  was  not 
admiration  that  was  expressed  in  the  earnest  and  restless 
glances  that  fell  upon  her,  and  then  wandered  to  Walter,  full 
of  anxious  inquiry,  as  if  his  lips  trembled  with  a  question 
he  dared  not  ask. 

"  You  are  surprised,  sir,  no  doubt,  to  find  this  young  lady 
amid  these  rude  surroundings,  and  I  cannot  explain  the  mys- 
tery at  this  time,"  said  Walter  to  him,  breaking  thus  the 
silence  that  was  becoming  awkward,  and  hoping  to  divert  the 
regard  which  he  saw  embarrassed  Ida.  "  I  have  sent  the 
negroes  up  stairs,"  he  continued,  "  to  try  to  kindle  a  fire  in 
the  room  above,  and  then  we  will  retire  from  this  room,  Ida, 
and  you  must  try  to  get  some  repose.  You  will  not  bo 
afraid  if  you  know  I  am  within  call ;  and  you  will  have 
Venus  and  this  other  woman  with  you." 

•'  0,  no,  I  am  not  afraid  now  ! "  she  said,  turning  her  head  a 
little,  and  raising  her  clear  dark  eyes  to  his  face. 


IDA     MAY.  385 

It  was  the  first  time  the  stranger  had  seen  her  face  fully 
and  the  low,  musical  tones  of  her  voice  seemed  to  strike  some 
chord  of  memory,  for  he  trembled  violently,  and  passed  his 
hand  once  or  twice  across  his  brow. 

"  That  name !  always  that  name  ! "  he  murmured,  half 
audibly,  and  then  added,  with  a  startling  abruptness,  "  Tell 
me,  sir,  who  is  this  young  lady  ?" 

"  It  is  Miss  Ida  May,"  replied  he,  in  a  reserved  manner, 
hardly  knowing  what  to  make  of  his  strange  guest. 

A  convulsive  trembling  again  seized  the  questioner ;  he 
turned  pale,  and  his  features  worked  spasmodically. 

"  Ida  May,  of  Wynn  Hall  ?  "  he  asked,  with  an  agitated 
voice. 

"  The  same,"  replied  Walter,  with  some  amazement. 

"The  same!  0,  God,  the  very  same!"  repeated  the 
stranger,  and  he  made  a  quick  step  towards  her,  and  held  out 
both  hands,  as  if  to  grasp  her.  Then,  appearing  oo  restrain 
himself,  he  turned  away,  and,  placing  his  arms  on  the  mantel- 
piece, leaned  his  head  on  them.  They  could  not  see  his  face 
but  his  frame  shook,  as  if  he  were  weeping  violently. 

Walter,  who  stood  near  Ida,  had  stepped  before  her  to 
shield  her,  for  he  began  to  think  the  man  was  insane.  Now 
they  looked  at  each  other  in  great  perplexity  for  a  moment 
and  then  laying  his  hand  gently  on  the  shoulder  of  his  guest, 
Uc  said,  "  I  fear,  sir,  you  were  injured  by  your  fall  more  than 
you  thought  at  first." 

There  was  no  reply,  but,  in  a  :ittle  while,  the  excessive 
emotions  subsided.  Unwilling  to  seem  to  notice  a  manifest- 


386  IDA     MAY. 

atiou  tor  which  .10  explanation  was  given,  and  thinking  the 
man  might  sooner  become  calm  if  left  to  himself,  Walter  sat 
down  by  Ida,  and  began  to  tell  her  why  it  was  that  he  had  so 
long  delayed  coming  to  help  her  in  her  dilemma.  So  many 
were  present,  that  he  could  only  use  the  most  general  terms  ; 
but  something  in  his  manner  made  her  cheeks  flush  and  her  heart 
jeat  quickly.  There  was  more  than  mere  friendly  sympathy 
in  that  low,  deep  tone ;  there  was  more  than  brotherly  affec- 
tion in  the  depths  of  those  brown  eyes ;  there  was  a  dangerous 
magnetism  in  the  touch  of  his  hands,  as  now  and  then,  in  the 
earnestness  of  his  talking,  he  laid  them  for  an  instant  lightly 
on  hers.  Ida  saw  it,  and  she  was  frightened  to  feel  how  rap- 
turous a  thrill  of  pleasure  filled  her  breast.  What  was  to 
become  of  all  her  just  pride,  of  all  her  self-possession,  if  this 
continued  long  ?  She  turned  half  away  from  him,  as  this 
thought  crossed  her  mind,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  am 
tired,  Walter,  —  very  tired." 

"  You  must  be,  I  know,'  he  answered,  though  a  shadow 
fell  over  his  glowing  face.  He  had  not  a  thought  of  fatigue. 
"I  was  very  careless 'to  sit  here  talking,"  he  added.  "1 
should  have  gone  to  hurry  the  preparations  up  stairs.  I  think 
the  negroes  must  have  gone  to  sleep  over  their  fire.'' 

"  No,  stay  a  few  moments,"  said  the  stranger,  now  coming 
near  and  speaking  very  calmly.  "  I  have  something  to  say, 
which  you  must  hear.  I  thought  to  wait  until  morning, 
lest  another  fainting  fit  should  be  the  penalty  ot  my  rashness, 
but  I  cannot.  I  cannot  wait !  I  must  speak  !  " 

He  paused,  and  looked  from  one  to  the  other.     0,  what  an 


IDA     MAY.  387 

unutterable  expression  was  that  with  which  he  regarded 
them  !  Then  he  spoke  again,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Ida'u  face  as 
she  gazed  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  There  was  once  a  man,  who  had  but  one  treasure  in  the 
world,  and  he  lost  it,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  solemn  tone.  "  I  will 
not  speak  of  his  grief.  Friend  tells  not  to  friend  such 
thoughts  as  rent  his  bosom,  and  made  his  life  a  weariness 
from  that  hour.  The  Eye  that  searches  those  depths,  is  the 
Eye  whose  comprehensive  gaze  takes  in  the  agonies  of  a  world. 
I  will  not  tell  of  his  endeavors  to  recover  what  was  gone. 
He  travelled  many  miles,  he  sought  out  many  mysteries,  he 
wearied  Heaven  with  prayers, —  and  it  was  all  in  vain.  Then 
the  Providence  that  guided  him,  led  him  out  upon  the  ocean, 
and  a  storm,  wilder  than  this  which  is  now  passing  away,  made 
a  wreck  of  the  ship  in  which  he  sailed,  and  he  alone,  of  all  on 
board,  was  rescued  by  a  passing  vessel  from  the  plank  to 
which  he  was  lashed,  and  which,  lifeless  as  he  was,  had 
upborne  him  many  hours.  He  was  carried  to  far-distant 
lands.  He  had  lost  everything,  and  he  was  obliged  to  stay 
there  and  work,  to  get  the  means  of  returning  home  ;  but  he 
wrote  many  letters,  until,  at  length,  receiving  no  answer,  hope 
died  within  him,  and  he  tried  to  forget  his  native  land. 
Years  passed  before  he  trod  its  shores  again.  Wealth  had 
come  to  him  ;  he  sought  it  not,  but  it  came ;  and  yet  how 
poor,  how  utterly  wretched  he  was,  to  stand  again  in  his 
native  town  and  find  himself  lonely  and  unknown !  In  the 
bitterness  of  his  heart,  he  prayed  to  die.  0,  foolish  man  !  to 
have  died  then  would  have  been.,  indeed,  a  curse'  The 
83* 


388  IDA     MAT. 

recompense  for  all  his  woes  was  near  him.  The  hours  of  his 
long  desolation  were  over.  His  treasure  had  been  found,  — 
had  been  tenderly  guarded,  —  was  waiting  to  be  restored  to 
his  arms.  This  treasure  was  found.  0,  Ida,  Ida  May !  "  he 
cried,  with  a  burst  of  excited  and  irrepressible  emotion,  "  doe? 
not  your  own  heart  tell  you  who  I  am  ?  " 

Many  varying  emotions  had  swept  through  Ida's  soul,  a<» 
she  listened,  until  sudden  surprise,  and  hope  that  seemed  a 
mockery,  gave  place  to  the  certainty  of  entire  conviction,  and 
with  a  wild,  inarticulate  cry,  she  sprang  to  her  feet.  There 
was  a  quick  movement,  a  faint  exclamation,  and  she  was 
clasped  in  his  arms.  It  seemed  as  if  their  lips  would  grow 
together  in  that  long,  long  embrace,  and  then  a  gush  of  tears 
relieved  the  hearts  that  would  else  have  burst  with  excess  of 
gladness. 

"  My  father  —  my  dear,  dear  father !  " 

"  My  precious  one  —  my  child !  " 

They  sat  down  together,  Mr.  May  holding  his  daughter  on 
his  knee,  and  keeping  her  still  closely  pressed  to  his  heart. 
He  kissed  her  repeatedly,  he  patted  her  face  and  hands  and 
hair,  he  caressed  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  child,  and  his  lips, 
so  long  denied  such  words,  overflowed  with  a  thousand  tender 
and  endearing  epithets  of  his  own  and  of  foreign  languages 
And  Ida,  her  arm  around  his  neck,  and  her  head  nestling  on 
his  breast,  thanked  Heaven  silently  for  her  great  bliss.  Her 
heart  had  so  famished  for  such  love,  for  such  protection  !  and 
now,  in  the  moment  when  her  fate  lowered  most  darkly,  th» 
boon  had  been  granted  as  by  a  miracle. 


IDA     MAY.  389 

Bat  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  think  long  of  herself  alone, 
oven  in  the  moment  of  "her  utmost  happiness.  Her  gratefu. 
heart  longed  to  acknowledge  its  obligations  to  those  who  had 
been  kind  to  her,  and,  raising  herself  a  little,  she  held  out  one 
hand  to  Walter.  He  had  been  looking  on  with  a  sympathy 
and  joy,  pure  as  mortal  can  feel,  and  now  he  pressed  her 
hand  to  his  lips,  exclaiming, 

"  0,  Ida,  this  is  glorious !  " 

She  gave  him  a  bright  beam'ng  smile,  and,  drawing  him 
a  ill  nearer,  placed  his  hand  in  her  father's,  who  clasped  K 
cordially. 

"  This  is  Walter  Varian,"  she  said,  — "  Walter,  who  is  des- 
tined to  be  my  good  genius.  He  redeemed  me  from  slavery,  and 
now  he  has  redeemed  me  from  orphanhood,  by  bringing  you 
here.  And  this,"  —  she  added,  turning  to  Venus,  who,  after  the 
first  exclamation  of  joy,  had  stood  modestly  aside,  with  tears 
of  delight  Tinning  over  her  face  unheeded,  —  "  this  is  Venus, 
my  mauma,  who  saved  my  life,  when  suffering  and  hardship  had 
nearly  killed  me,  and  has  watched  over  me  and  waited  upon 
me  ever  ^ince.  My  two  best  friends  !  0,  father,  you  must 
love  them  both  !  " 

Mr.  May  relinquished  his  hold  on  his  daughter,  that  he 
might  take  the  dark  hand  of  the  faithful  Venus.  He  tried  to 
speak,  but  his  feelings  overpowered  him.  The  intensity  of 
his  emotion  could  only  find  utterance  in  prayer,  and,  raising 
the  hands  he  held,  and  looking  upward,  with  eyes  that  saw  not 
for  the  tears  that  filled  them,  he  sxclaimed  fervently, 


390  IDA     MAY. 

"  O,  thou  wonderful  and  gracious  God,  who  hast  brought 
us,  through  manifold  danger  and  tria  ,  to  the  blessedness  of 
this  hour !  bless  these  two,  I  beseech  thee ;  bless  them  with  all 
the  unutterable  blessings  that  my  grateful  soul  would 
crave ! " 

Sobs  choked  his  voice,  and  his  whole  frame  quivered  and 
ehook  with  agitation.  His  ecstasy  of  feeling  was  almost  too 
much  to  bear.  He  had  endured  sorrow  long  and  patiently, 
but  his  soul  had  been  crushed  beneath  the  benumbing  pressure 
until  it  was  like  pain  for  it  to  expand  to  the  extent  of  this 
great  joy.  It  was  really  a  relief  when  their  feelings  were 
brought  from  this  high  and  solemn  intensity  down  to  a  more 
common  level,  by  Venus'  quaint  and  simple  exclamations  of 
triumph. 

"  Did  n't  I  say  dat,  Miss  Ida  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Did  n't  I 
say  de  Lord,  he  know  de  best  time  ?  When  we  dene  drunk  up 
all  de  bitter  medicine,  den  he  gives  us  some  suc^ar  to  take 
away  de  taste.  'Pears  like  he  been  keeping  dis  blessing  till 
de  very  minute  you  want  it  most.  Bless  de  Lord  !  " 

Long  and  absorbing  in  its  interest  was  the  conversation 
that  followed,  when  they  had  all  grown  calmer.  The  hours 
of  night  wore  away.  Potter  was  stretched  on  the  floor,  under 
the  window,  in  a  drunken  sleep,  and  the  mulatto  girl  sat  near 
him,  sleeping  also.  Even  Venus,  at  length,  yielded  to  the 
drowsiness  that  weighed  down  her  eyelids,  and  leaned  hei 
head  on  the  table  ;  but  their  presence  was  unnoticed,  and  the 
flight  of  time  forgotten.  There  was  so  much  to  be  told,  and 
«o  many  questions  to  be  asked,  there  was  such  a  perfect  union 


IDA     M  A  V.  39J 

of  feeling  and  interest,  that  hours  flew  by  like  moments,  and, 
resting  in  her  father's  arms,  Ida  felt  her  fatigue  no  longer. 

All  were  surprised  when  "  the  cock's  shrill  clarion  "  in- 
formed them  of  the  approach  of  dawn.  Once  more  Walter 
threw  open  the  window.  The  storm  had  spent  itself,  and  the 
clouds  had  rolled  away.  All  was  calm  and  clear  as  Ida's 
mental  horizon,  and  the  promise  for  the  coming  day  was  fair 
as  that  which  seemed  dawning  upon  her  life. 

Without  delay  the  servants  were  aroused,  the  horses  were 
harnessed  to  a  rude  vehicle  belonging  to  the  farm,  and  the 
whole  party  departed,  without  any  very  ceremonious  leave- 
taking,  and  drove  towards  the  village,  where,  having  seen  Ida 
and  her  father  comfortably  established  in  the  hotel,  Waltei 
and  bis  servant  rode  homeward. 


OHAPTEL    XV. 

"  Mine  eyes 

Were  not  in  fault  ;  for  she  was  beautiful  : 
Mine  ears  that  heard  her  flattery,  nor  my  heart       ' 
That  thought  her  like  her  seemings.    It  had  been  vie.ot* 
To  have  mistrusted  her.     Yet,  0,  it  was 

A  folly  in  me.    Heaven  mend  all !  " 

CYMBELINE. 

A  GENTLE  and  affectionate  nature  is  often  roused  to  pride 
and  reserve  by  the  influence  of  love ;  a  proud  and  cold  one  is 
often  rendered  more  yielding  and  humble.  Thus  it  had  been 
with  Mabel.  At  first  it  had  been  only  her  vanity,  her  secret 
rivalry  of  Ida,  and  her  love  of  admiration,  that  had  been 
gratified  by  Walter's  devotion,  and  she  held  the  treasure 
lightly  which  she  had  won  so  easily.  But  she  had  not  been 
unobservant  of  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  herself,  as 
her  own  interest  became  aroused  and  fixed.  There  had  been 
no  unknown,  blind  enchantment.  Knowing  no  reason  why 
she  should  not  marry  Walter  if  she  chose,  even  in  defiance  of 
her  father's  wish,  she  had  yielded  to  the  power  that  moved 
her,  with  a  rare  self-possession,  and  a  conscious  enjoyment  of 
its  novelty  and  delight,  and  of  the  zest  it  gave  to  days  that 
had  sometimes  before  been  wearisome,  which  would  have  been 
impossible  with  a  more  ardent  and  generous  disposition.  Even 


I  F-  A     MAY.  303 

as  she  sat  silently  before  the  fire  that  evening,  after  Walter 
had  left  her,  amid  all  the  anger  and  jealous  pain  that  pos- 
sessed her,  the  thought  that  recurred  oftenest  was  not  that 
Walter  loved  another  more  than  her,  but  it  was  that  now 
Ida  would  triumph  over  her,  and  who  would  restore  to  her 
the  emotion  that  had  caused  her  such  delightsome  hours  ? 
She  felt  that  she  had  lost  him,  —  that  she  had  condescended 
to  him  in  vain,  —  and  she  racked  her  brain  for  a  plan  of 
revenge  worthy  of  her  rage  against  him. 

She  had  been  sitting  some  time,  apparently  absorbed  in 
thought,  but  manifesting  little  of  the  feelings  that  were  whirl- 
ing through  her  heart,  when  her  father,  who,  while  pretending 
to  read,  had  watched  her  narrowly,  came  suddenly  near  her, 
and  took  her  hands  in  his.  She  had  grasped  the  arms  of  her 
chair,  unconsciously,  with  such  force  that  her  fingers  were 
stiff  and  cold.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  brow,  which  was 
covered  with  a  clammy  moisture,  though  her  features  were  as 
haughtily  impassive  as  ever.  He  looked  a  moment  into  her 
eyes,  which  shrank  from  his  gaze,  and  then  said,  firmly,  but 
kindly, 

"  You  do  not  seem  well,  Mabel.  Have  you  taken  cold 
from  your  exposure  ? " 

"  No,  papa.     I  am  well !  " 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  the  storm  ?  It  is  unusually  severe," 
he  asked. 

Again  she  returned 'a  negative  answer,  and,  having  thus 
assured  himself  of  what  he  suspected  as  the  real  cause  of  her 
trouble,  he  turned  quietly  away  and  resumed  his  chair  and 


394  I  1)  A     MAY. 

his  booic,  apparently  taking  no  further  notice  of  her,  until 
sometime  later.  Mrs.  Wynn  had  been  cal  ed  from  the  room 
to  assist  Patra  in  administering  medicine  to  her  sick  child, 
and  Mr.  Wynn,  looking  up,  said,  abruptly, 

"  Consider,  Mabel,  what  it  is  you  want  in  a  husband.  You 
are  beautiful  and  accomplished;  will  you  lury  yourself  in  an 
obscure  station,  where,  even  at  best,  years  must  elapse  before 
that  can  be  yours  which  you  may  secure  now  and  at  once,  if 
you  will  ? " 

Mabel  turned  herself  half  round  in  her  chair,  that  she 
might  look  in  her  father's  face,  as  she  replied ;  and  there  was 
on  her  beautiful  features  a  proud,  hard  expression,  that  made 
them  strikingly  like  his. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  in  a  bitter  tone  "  I  have  heard  it 
said  that  the  happiest  wives  are  not  those  who  have  married 
for  rank,  and  wealth,  and  display !  " 

Mr.  Wynn  uttered  a  contemptuous  "  Pooh !  "  and  then, 
fixing  his  eyes  piercingly  upon  her,  he  added,  "  Is  it  possible 
you  think  you  love  that  young  man  ?  " 

Mabel  bore  his  gaze  unshrinkingly,  but  the  color  deepened 
a  little  in  her  cheek,  as  she  answered,  faintly,  "  I  could  have 
loved  him." 

"  And  now  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wynn. 

"-Now  he  loves  me  no  longer,"  she  replied.  The  words 
dropped  from  her  lips  slowly,  contemptuously,  is  if  she 
scorned  herself  for  the  pain  she  felt  at  this  admission. 

"  Do  you  then  regret  this  lost  lover  ? "  asked  her  father 
lifter  a  moment's  pause. 


IDA     M  A  Y  .  o95 

'  It  is  Jie  lost  love  I  regret,"  she  answered,  "  not  the  lost 
lover." 

She  turned  partly  away  from  him  again,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  She  shed  no  tears,  but  her  heart  was 
almost  convulsed  with  the  mingled  emotions  raging  there. 

Mr.  Wynn  smiled,  with  a  relieved  expression,  and,  after  a 
short  silence,  he  said,  "  If  you  can  analyze  your  feelings  thus, 
you  have,  as  yet,  escaped  harm  from  this  folly ;  but  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  understand  you.  "What  is  it  you  regret  ? " 

"  What  is  it  I  regret  ?  "  she  answered,  looking  up  with  a 
compressed  brow  and  sparkling  eyes.  "  Papa,  I  think  you 
understand  me  better  than  any  one  else,  —  cannot  you  think 
what  it  is  ?  My  life  is  growing  to  be  a  weariness.  I  am 
losing  the  high  animal  spirits  that  come  of  mere  youth  and 
health,  and  I  tire  of  the  monotony  that  surrounds  me,  of  the 
sameness  with  which  the  months  and  the  seasons  succeed  each 
other.  I  want  something  new  and  exciting,  and  this  —  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  reason,  it  matters  not  now  —  Walter's 
presence,  and  his  devotion  to  me,  supplied.  Doubtless  I 
should  have  wearied  of  that,  also,  before  long ;  but,  for  a 
little  while,  he  has  had  the  power  to  make  the  days  pass 
swiftly ;  and,  of  all  the  sighing  swains  whose  hearts  I  have 
broken,  none  other  had  that  power.  Perhaps  you  can  tcU 
me  why  it  has  been  so.  Is  this  love  ?  " 

Her  lip  curled,  she  spoke  rapidly,  and  her  eyes  met  his 
with  a  haughty  and  almost  defiant  glance.  Her  father's 
heart  thrilled  with  admiration  and  fondness  for  her,  and  he 
and  stood  by  her  chair,  laying  his  hand  on  the  silken 
34 


398  IDA     MAY 

folds  jf  her  soft  hair,  with  a  caressing  movement  that  she 
could  hardly  remember  him  as  bestowing  upon  her  since 
childhood. 

"  My  queenly  Mabel !  "  he  said,  gently,  "  I  don't  wonder 
that  you  long  for  a  change.  I  have  been  blind,  not  to  have 
seen,  before  this,  that  the  quiet  which  suits  my  habits  so  well, 
would  be  a  dull  monotony  for  you.  You  shall  have  change, 
you  shall  have  excitement.  My  proudest  hopes  for  your 
future  are  about  to  be  fulfilled.  You  shall  marry  a  man  in 
whose  veins  runs  the  best  blood  of  the  land,  —  a  man  whose 
ancestors  were  of  royal  race,  and  who  has  none  of  the  low, 
plebeian  ideas  that  suit  so  poorly  with  the  position  of  a  south- 
ern gentleman.  Mabel,  you  shall  marry  Col.  Ross !  He 
has  wealth,  —  unlimited  wealth,  —  and  a  position  in  society, 
and  influence  in  the  state !  He  may  aspire  to  its  highest 
office,  at  any  time,  if  he  will ;  but,  at  present,  his  intentions 
are  to  take  you  to  England,  and  present  you  to  his  relations 
among  the  nobility  there  !  You  will  be  presented  at  court,  — 
you  will  take  that  station  in  life  which  you  can  grace  so 
well ! " 

"Papa,  how  do  you  know  all  this?"  asked  Mabel,  her 
cheek  paling  with  excitement  at  this  brilliant  prospect,  which, 
thus  suddenly  opened  before  her,  seemed  to  mock  her  vision. 

"  Col.  Ross  was  here  this  morning,  and  proposed  the  honor 
of  an  alliance  with  my  daughter,"  replied  Mr.  Wynn. 

"  He  might  have  asked  me,  first,"  said  Mabel,  pettishly. 

"  Mabel !  —  Col.  Ross  is  a  man  of  honor  !  '  returned  Mr 
Wynn,  in  a  tone  of  surprise  and  displeasure 


IDA     MAY.  39  | 

"  Still,  he  might  have  been  a  little  less  guarded  than  he 
has  been ;  and  now,  certainly,  he  might  condescend  to  consult 
me  on-  the  subject.  How  does  he  know  but  I  shall  refuse 
lim  ? "  said  the  wilful  beauty,  annoyed  at  having  her  fate 
ihus  summarily  fixed. 

"  You  will  not  refuse  him  !  "  exclaimed  her  father. 

"  Why  don't  he  come  and  see  ?  Perhaps  I  shall,"  said 
she. 

"  He  asked  permission  to  see  you  alone  this  evening,  and  I 
granted  him  liberty,"  Mr.  Wynn  answered ;  "  but  the  storm 
has  prevented  him  from  coming  to  solicit  your  consent  to  his 
wishes." 

"  The  storm  did  not  prevent  Walter  from  going  to  Ida," 
said  Mabel,  quickly. 

"  Pooh  !  you  are  wayward,  my  child,  and  sport  with  your 
cwn  desires,"  said  Mr.  Wynn,  resuming  his  seat  with  his 
usual  stern  manner. 

Mabel  did  not  reply  for  a  long  time.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  fire,  and  she  seemed  absorbed  in  thought.  When  she 
did  speak,  her  words  were  abrupt  and  hurried,  as  with  sup* 
pressed  excitement. 

"  Papa,  suppose  accident  had  connected  you  with  on 3, 
between  whom  and  yourself  there  had  ever  been  a  secret 
antagonism.  Suppose  that  person  had  always,  purposely 
sometimes,  and  often  unconsciously,  thwarted  your  designs, 
opposed  your  influence,  drawn  to  herself  the  regard  and  atten- 
tion that  would  else  have  been  given  wholly  to  you,  and 
established  herself  as  your  rival  in  hearts  where  you  would 


398  IDA     MAY. 

reign  alone ;  and,  at  last,"  she  added,  with  heightening  coioi 
and  quickening  breath,  "  at  last,  defeated  you  wholly  in  the 
one  object  where,  most  of  all,  you  wished  to  triumph  over 
her.  If  this  were  so,  say,  papa,  what  would  you  do  ? " 

Her  father's  face  grew  dark,  and  he  said,  with  some  sur- 
prise of  manner,  "  Is  this  so  ?  Is  it  Ida  May  to  whom  you 
refer  ?  " 

"  It  is  so,"  she  answered.  "  From  the  first  moment  I  saw 
her,  a  little  dirty  child,  I  disliked  her.  I  tried  to  overcome 
the  feeling,  which  mamma  said  was  wrong,  and  to  understand 
why  the  others  were  all  so  interested  in  her ;  but  I  could  never 
lose  that  secret  repugnance.  She  lived  with  us,  and  so  I 
treated  her  well ;  but  I  never,  never  liked  her,  and  now  —  I 
will  no  longer  conceal  it,  I  will  speak  out,  —  I  hate  her  — 
kate  her,  and  I  will  be  revenged !  "  She  clenched  her  hand, 
and  stamped  her  little  foot  on  the  soft  rug  as  she  spoke,  and 
her  eyes  glowed  with  the  rage  she  felt. 

Her  father  was  amazed  at  this  excess  of  feeliijg,  though  he 
had  long  since  divined  her  secret  dislike  of  Ida ;  but  he  made 
no  effort  to  check  the  outburst,  and  replied,  calmly, 

"  I.  understand,  then,  that  you  do  not  wish  her  w  return 
here." 

"  1  do  not.  My  food  would  choke  me  if  we  ate  at  the 
same  table !  "  she  exclaimed,  vehemently. 

"  Then,  rest  assured,  some  other  shelter  shall  be  provided 
for  her.  I  will  have  no  one  here  whom  you  dislike,  during 
the  short  time  you  will  remain  at  home,"  sai;l  Mr.  Wynn. 

He  was   secretly  pleased    that,  by  this    arrangement,  hr. 


IDA     MAY. 

thould  probably  not  only  remove  Ida,  of  whose  influence  in  his 
house  he  felt  somewhat  afraid,  when  it  should  become  known 
imong  his  servants  that  she  was  giving  liberty  to  hers,  but 
also  separate  Mabel  from  Walter  more  effectually  than  he 
would  otherwise  be  able  to  do.  He  feared  Walter's  power 
over  his  daughter.  Her  anger  and  excitement  made  him 
think  her  heart  had  been  more  deeply  moved  than  she  chose 
to  acknowledge. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  have  no  foolish  entanglement  with 
Walter  ?  "  he  asked,  as  she  did  not  reply. 

"  None  that  I  cannot  break  thus,"  she  answered,  tearing 
in  two  pieces  the  delicate  handkerchief  that  lay  in  her  lap, 
and  flinging  it  away.  "  Bo  not  fear  that,  papa.  I  am  no 
weak,  heart-broken  miss,  to  sit  and  wear  the  willow.  I 
would  not  marry  Walter  now,  if  he  were  king  of  the  world 
and  offered  me  a  place  on  the  throne  beside  him.  No,  he 
may  have  that  pale-faced  little  girl,  if  he  likes,  but  I  will 
annoy  him  somewhat  before  I  am  done  with  her  !  "  she  added, 
gloomily. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Mabel,"  said  Mr.  Wynn,  earnestly.  "  I 
do  not  like  this  excessive  emotion.  Be  proud,  be  ambitious, 
be  unforgiving,  if  you  will,  —  all  noble  souls  have  felt  these 
passions, — but  never  get  thus  excited.  It  is  a  habit  that 
increases  with  indulgence,  until  a  person  has  no  longer  control 
of  himself  at  the  moment  when  he  most  needs  it,  and  so  is 
left  in  the  power  of  his  enemies.  And  be  careful  what  you 
do.  I  do  not  blame  you,  with  these  fe  lings  toward  Ida,  for 
wishing  her  anywhere  rather  than  here  ;  but  an  inordinate 
34* 


400  -.DA-    MAY. 

desire  for  revenge  often  overreaches  itself,  and  makes  its 
possessor  appear  mean  cr  ridiculous,  especially  when  the 
object  of  dislike  is  a  woman,  and  an  equal  in  society.  Be 
satisfied  to  have  things  as  they  are.  Do  nothing  dishonor 
able." 

"  Do  not  fear,  papa,"  said  Mabel,  haughtily.  "  I  will  bo 
as  quiet  and  discreet  as  possible.  Only  one  thing  I  ask  of 
you.  Do  not  tell  any  one  of  my  engagement  to  Col.  Ross 
until  I  give  you  liberty.  I  prefer  to  keep  it  a  secret  at 
present." 

"  As  you  please,"  replied  her  father ;  "  but  it  cannot  DC 
kept  secret  a  long  time,  I  fancy,  for  I  expect  Col.  Ross  will 
urge  you  to  name  an  early  day." 

"  He  will  find  himself  obliged  to  wait  my  pleasure.  It 
seems  to  me,  papa,  you  hardly  consult  my  dignity  in  being 
thus  anxious  to  hasten  my  marriage,"  said  Mabel,  proudly. 

"  It  is  your  happiness  I  am  consulting,  my  dear  child," 
replied  her  father.  "  I  am  a  quiet  man  myself,  and  my  feeble 
health  does  not  accord  with  show  and  noisy  crowds,  but  all 
the  pride  of  my  nature  is  centred  in  you.  I  exult  in  seeing 
you  admired.  You  are  the  crown,  the  glory  of  my  life, 
Mabel ! " 

It  was  not  possible,  even  for  a  nature  so  self-absorbed  as 
Mabel's,  to  hoar  these  words,  the  wost  enthusiastic  and 
earnest  he  had  ever  spoken  in  his  whole  life,  without  a  thrill 
of  feeling  more  generous  and  grateful  than  merely  the  admi- 
ration they  expressed  would  excite,  and  his  daughter  was 
deeply  moved.  She  rose  from  her  chair,  and,  coming  to  him 


IDA     MAY.  401 

stooped  down,  with  tears  in  her  bright  eyes,  and  kissed  hla 
tips.  .  • 

"  Thank  you,  papa,"  she  said,  in  a  soft  and  humble  tone. 
•'  I  will  make  it  the  study  of  my  life  to  be  all  you  wish  to 
have  rae." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Wynn  returned  to  the  parlor,  and  calmly, 
as  if  nothing  had  happened,  her  husband  took  up  his  book, 
and  Mabel  returned  to  her  seat.  Mrs.  Wynn  looked  a  little 
surprised,  but  resumed  her  work  without  asking  any  ques- 
tions. Mabel  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  there  was  no  trace 
of  her  late  emotion  as  she  asked  carelessly, 

"  How  is  Patra's  child  ?  You  look  tired,  mamma  ;  why 
will  you  persist  in  fatiguing  yourself  so  with  those  sick 
children?  Their  mothers  ought  to  know  enough  to  take 
care  of  them." 

"  But  they  don't  know  about  giving  medicine,"  said  Mrs. 
Wynn,  gently ;  "  and  with  all  my  care  it  seems  impossible  to 
teach  them,  and  the  poor  children  would  die,  very  often,  if  I 
did  not  attend  to  it  myself.  It  is  often  tiresome,  but  I  must 
not  neglect  my  duties  to  the  servants." 

"  Poor  mamma,  what  a  martyr  you  are  to  your  sense  of 
duty  !  "  said  Mabel,  smiling. 

"  You  will  have  to  be  a  martyr  also,  one  of  these  days, 
when  you  get  to  be  mistress  of  a  household,"  replied  Mrs. 
Wynn,  returning  her  smile. 

"  0,  I  shall  never  make  myself  so  pale  and  tired  as  you 
are  now  !  "  said  Mabel,  gayly. 

"  It  is  not  all  my  care  for  the  ctild,"  her  mother  answered, 


102  IDA     MAT. 

« but  these  thunder-storms  always  give  me-  the  headache 
fou  know.  I  am  glad  this  one  is  passing  away,  for  it  has 
been  dreadfully  violent." 

"  Has  it  ?  I  did  not  notice/1  said  Mabel,  dreamily,  re- 
lapsing into  a  revery. 

Mrs.  Wynn  !Doked  up  in  surprise,  and  not  without  a  feeling 
of  envy  a  the  strong  nerves  that  could  be  unmoved  through 
such  a  tumult  and  commotion  of  the  elements ;  but  her 
daughter  seemed  absorbed  in  thought,  and  she  did  not  care 
to  disturb  her  by  any  reply. 

It  was  Mabel's  first  impulse  to  give  voice  to  her  indigna- 
tion against  Walter,  and  at  once  cast  him  from  her  as  having 
alienated  her  love  by  his  direct  violation  of  her  wishes  in 
regard  to  Ida ;  but  she  wished  to  annoy  and  perplex  him  as 
much  as  possible,  and  she  conceived  that  she  had  a  perfect 
right  to  do  so,  since  he  had  first  been  unfaithful  to  her. 
She  was  sure  that  while  he  was  bound  by  his  engagement  to 
her,  no  expression  would  be  made  of  his  evident  interest  in 
Ida,  however  much  they  might  suffer  or  lose  by  the  restraint. 
She  gave  him  credit  for  thus  much  of  honorable  feeling,  even 
in  her  anger;  but  for  Ida  she  had  no  compassion.  Scrupulous 
as  had  been  her  conduct,  Mabel  believed  that  she  had  tried 
and  would  still  try  to  win  Walter  from  his  allegiance,  and 
if  these  artful  designs  had  succeeded,  and  her  firkle  wooer 
was  beginning  to  fret  against  the  ties  that  bound  him  to  her, 
she  determined  to  hold  them  with  no  gentle  hand,  unpitying, 
even  if  she  saw  that  they  cut  him  to  the  quick.  Her  love 
for  him  was  gone,  swallowed  up  it  the  torrent  of  angry  and 


IDA     MAY.  40d 

bitter  feeling  that  one  act  had  aroused.  That  he  should  have 
cared  enough  for  any  living  being  to  have  disregarded  her 
expressed  wishes  in  order  to  serve  them,  would  have  been 
cause  enough  for  anger ;  but  that  he  had  done  this  for  Ida's 
sake,  was  too  much  for  her  to  bear. 

Every  one  knows  how  a  feeling  that  has  for  years  been 
kept  in  abeyance,  making  its  torpid  life  known  by  a  continual 
consciousness,  and  yet  never  manifesting  itself  so  fully  as  to 
give  evidence  of  its  real  power,  kept  down  by  social  courtesy 
and  by  the  predominance  of  other  passions  and  interests,  will 
in  one  moment  spring  to  light,  like  Minerva  from  the  brain 
of  Jupiter,  with  a  maturity  of  strength  ready  for  instant 
action,  and  armed  with  all  the  energies  of  an  unceasing  life. 
Thus  it  was  with  Mabel ;  and  her  deep-laid  plan  of  vengeance 
required  that  for  a  time  at  least  Walter  should  be  kept  from 
Ida's  society  as  much  as  possible,  lest  he  should  discover  and 
frustrate  it ;  and  thus  another  reason  was  added  to  all  those 
which  led  her  to  dissemble  and  hide  her  real  purposes  and 
emotions  with  regard  to  her  cousin.  Her  own  contemplated 
violation  of  their  secret  engagement  gave  her  not  a  moment's 
uneasiness.  It  was  her  right,  she  thought,  since  she  had 
received  so  much  provocation,  and  she  would  rejoice  in 
using  it. 

Accordingly,  the  next  day,  when,  after  a  long  s^ep,  which 
had  restored  the  strength  lost  by  the  exposure  and  watching 
of  the  previous  night,  he  appeared  in  the  parlor  just  before 
dinner-time,  she  received  him  with  playful  reproaches,  and 
inquired  so  kindly  after  his  health  and  Ida's  welfare,  and 


404  IDA     MAT. 

expressed  such  sympathy  in  his  joy  at  Mr.  May's  return, 
that  Walter,  poor  fellow,  felt  a  bitter  remorse  and  vexation 
at  having  so  hastily  condemned  her  as  ill-natured  and  selfish. 
He  was  ashamed  of  himself,  and  frightened,  as  he  became 
conscious  of  a  vague  disappointment  at  being  received  so 
pleasantly,  and  of  an  undefined  hope  that  she  might  have 
resented  his  disobedience  to  her  command.  More  earnestly 
than  even  in  the  days  of  his  first  fascination,  did  he,  during 
the  few  moments  they  were  alone  together  during  the  after- 
noon, implore  her  to  allow  him  to  ask  her  father's  consent  to 
their  union.  He  longed  to  be  freed,  in  some  way,  from  his 
anomalous  and  embarrassing  position ;  and,  since  he  could  not 
honorably  leave  her,  he  felt  a  desperate  desire  to  fence  him- 
self around  with  such  barriers  as  would  prevent  his  rebel 
thoughts  from  straying  away  from  her. 

But  Mabel  refused  his  request.  Gently,  and  with 
tenderness  and  delicacy,  she  begged  him  to  wait  a  while 
longer,  lest  her  father  should  utterly  forbid  their  union,  and 
then,  with  a  well-feigned  fearfulness  of  manner,  she  told  him 
that  Col.  Ross  had  asked  for  the  right  to  address  her,  and 
entreated  him  not  to  be  angry  or  jealous  if  he  saw  them 
together,  for  she  had  promised  her  father  that  she  would 
receive  his  attentions,  for  a  few  months  at  least,  and  try  to 
love  him.  But  she  knew  she  could  not  love  Col.  Ross,  and, 
if  she  did  not,  no  force  on  earth  could  make  her  marry  him. 
Her  cousin  Walter  need  have  no  fears  of  such  a  rival,  —  0 
no !  —  and,  meantime,  her  complaisance  might  win  her  father 
to  consent  to  her  union  with  the  man  sue  did  love,  if  he  would 


IDA     MAY.  405 

only  be  patient,  and  for  her  sake,  if  not  for  his  own,  refrain 
from  rash  measures  that  would  avail  nothing. 

She  acted  well  the  part  she  had  chosen  to  play,  and  Wal- 
ter, completely  deceived,  left  her  in  no  enviable  state  of 
mind.  For  a  long  time  he  walked  to  and  fro  across  the 
piazza,  in  the  cold,  gray  twilight  of  that  winter's  day,  with 
his  arms  folded  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor.  The  agita- 
tion he  had  experienced  the  evening  previous  had  taught 
him  the  nature  of  his  feelings  for  Ida,  and  how  fatal  it  might 
be  for  his  happiness  if  he  should  see  her  often,  and  yet  he 
knew  that  he  could  not  wholly  avoid  her  society  without 
appearing  rude  and  unkind.  Mr.  Wynn  had  already  given 
orders  that  her  clothing  should  be  sent  to  her,  and  he  had 
also  given  her  thg  deeds  and  papers  belonging  to  her  share 
of  Mr.  Maynard's  estate,  with  a  brief,  and  coldly  courteous 
message,  which  was,  in  fact,  but  a  civil  way  of  saying  that 
he  expected  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  her  or  her 
affairs.  Walter  knew  that,  if  Ida's  plans  were  carried  out, 
she,  and  her  father  also,  would  need  the  help  he  could  render, 
and  feel  surprised  and  offended  at  what  they  must  deem  his 
unfriendly  desertion  of  them,  if  that  aid  was  withheld.  Hs 
knew  that  there  was  little  to  choose  between  the  dishonor  ot 
wilfully  breaking  his  engagement,  and  the  falsehood  of  utter- 
ing marriage  vows  to  one  woman,  while  his  highest  esteem 
and  strongest  love  were  given  to  another ;  and  his  heart  re- 
coiled in  horror  at  the  thought  of  doing  either.  What  then 
should  he  do  ?  Could  the  will  control  the  affections  ?  Could 
*he  strong  currents  of  the  soul,  which  now  swelled  high  and 


406  IDA     MAY. 

dashed  against  the  barriers  that  opposed  them,  be  made  to 
flow  in  a  different  channel,  curbed  and  quieted,  and  serving 
peacefully  the  occasions  of  daily  duty  ? 

These  questions  he  asked  himself,  and,  in  the  perplexity 
and  confusion  of  his  mind,  he  found  but  an  uncertain  answer. 
Other  thoughts  came  also  to  trouble  him  ;  thoughts  con- 
nected with  his  obligations  to  his  human  property,  that  had 
been  for  a  few  days  imperiously  urging  their  claims  upon  his 
conscience ;  and  interests  more  important  than  the  alternative 
of  his  own  happiness  or  misery,  that  loudly  called  for  his  con- 
sideration. 

Wearied,  at  length,  with  the  ceaseless  round  of  thought,  he 
determined  to  leave  the  subject,  and,  trusting  that  firm  prin- 
ciples and  right  intentions  would  in  the  end  extricate  him 
from  the  dilemma,  he  resolved  to  occupy  himself  with  other 
objects,  and  to  change  his  present  idle  life  for  the  business 
and  cares  incident  to  the  management  of  his  plantation  at 
Oaklands. 

The  next  morning  he  announced  to  his  uncle  that  he  had 
given  up  the  idea  of  selling  his  place,  and,  instead  of  going  to 
the  city  to  enjoy  the  busy  idleness  of  a  young  lawyer,  he 
should  establish  himself  at  Oaklands,  and  study  agriculture 
No  objection  was  offered  to  this  plan,  and  little  surprise  ex 
pressed  by  any  except  Mrs.  Wynn ;  and,  thus  quietly  loosening 
himself  from  his  old  home,  Waller  found  himself  the  next 
evening  settled  at  housekeeping  in  the  time-worn  family  mat.- 
eion  at  Oaklands. 

Some  weeks  elapsed,  after  this,  with  little  apparent  ehango 


IDA     MAY.  407 

m  the  position  of  affairs.  Walter  rode  over  to  the  hall  three 
or  four  times  a  week,  and  was  always  kindly  received  by 
Mabel.  Sometimes  he  found  Col.  Ross  there,  and  he  often 
heard  reports  of  his  approaching  marriage ;  but,  deceived  as 
he  was  in  regard  to  his  cousin's  intentions,  he  put  no  faith  in 
these  .rumors,  and  assiduously  strove  to  recall  the  warmth  of 
affection  with  which  he  had  once  regarded  her.  Ida  he  saw 
more  seldom.  He  fancied  that  she  had  grown  reserved  and 
distant  in  her  manner  towards  him,  and  supposed  that  she 
had  divined  his  hidden  love  for  her,  and  meant  thus  to  dis- 
courage it.  He  doubted  not  that  she  blamed  him,  as  much 
as  he  blamed  himself,  for  his  change  of  feeling,  and  his  faith- 
lessness to  Mabel's  love,  —  of  which  in  his  blindness  he  had 
full  confidence,  —  and,  though  it  gave  him  a  heavy  heart-ach- 
ing continually,  he  accepted  this  loss  of  her  esteem,  as  a  just 
punishment  for  his  offences.  Poor  fellow  !  he  would  have 
grown  nearly  desperate,  but  for  the  diversion  of  thought  and 
the  constant  occupation  he  found  in  the  care  of  his  plantation, 
and  in  improving  the  condition  of  his  servants,  who  had  been 
«adly  neglected  of  late  years. 

Ida  May  and  her  father,  one  in  mind  and  heart,  delayed 
not  a  moment  the  work  on  which  her  wishes  had  been  fixed 
so  long.  The  happiness  they  enjoyed  in  being  restored  to 
each  other,  had  no  effect  to  centre  their  thoughts  on  them 
selves,  and  make  them  foiget  the  welfare  of  those  dependent 
on  them.  There  were  some  unavoidable  delays  in  the  legal 
forms  necessary  for  the  manumission  of  Ida's  negroes ;  but, 
meantime,  she  collected  them  together  at  the  old  house  in  tht 
35 


408  IDA    MAT. 

Triangle,  where  she  had  passed  the  most  miserable  an<i  thr 
happiest  hours  of  her  life,  and  tried  to  teach  them  the  rudi 
raente  of  the  free  and  self-dependent  life  on  which  they  wen 
to  enter.  At  first,  it  was  a  disagreeable  and  somewhat  thank 
less  work.  They  had  been  so  little  used  to  unselfish  kind 
ness,  that  they  mistrusted  her,  and  quarrelled  among  them 
selves  over  her  gifts  of  clothing  and  food ;  —  they  were  al 
wofully  ignorant ;  most  of  the  good-natured  ones  were  stupid 
and  the  bright  ones  were  mostly  vicious.  It  was  no  lighl 
task,  no  "rose-water  humanity,"  to  teach  such  beings  the 
decencies  and  arts  of  civilized  life,  and  the  moral  and  reli 
gious  ideas,  of  which  they  were  as  destitute  as  the  heathen 
of  foreign  lands.  But  Ida  persevered  patiently,  day  after 
day,  with  a  Christian  gentleness  and  pity  for  these  victims  of 
oppression,  that  gradually  won  their  confidence  and  love ;  and, 
as  time  went  on,  her  work  became  easier.  They  began  to  act 
less  like  savage  children,  helpless  and  incapable,  and  to  enjoy 
the  glimmering  ideas  of  advancement  and  education  that 
found  way  into  their  minds,  so  long  benumbed  and  darkened. 
The  most  of  them  were  of  the  class  who  are  called  "  con- 
tented." because  they  sing  rude  songs  in  the  intervals  of  labor, 
and  are  too  stupid,  too  ignorant  of  a  better  life,  too  hopeless 
of  ultimate  escape  from  their  present  state,  and  too  fearful  of 
punishment  if  they  rebel  against  it,  to  do  aught  but  plod  on 
day  after  day  through  their  allotted  round  of  labor,  with  the 
quiet  obedience  of  brutes.  These  were  not  prepared  for  free- 
dom ;  and  it  would  have  been  better  if  they  coulJ  h?  »T3  been 
trained  carefully  and  judiciously  for  some  years,  befoi<s  re- 


IDA     MAY.  409 

eeiving  that  boon ;  but,  under  the  circumstances  in  which  Ida 
was  placed,  she  knew  this  could  not  be  done,  and  she  wisely 
refrained  from  attempting  more  than  she  would  be  allowed  to 
perform.  Her  father  assisted  her  by  his  experience  of  the 
world,  and  encouraged  and  sustained  her  when  she  was  per- 
plexed and  weary ;  and,  thus  busily  engaged,  the  time  flew  by 
on  swift  wings. 

They  had  rooms  at  the  hotel  in  the  village,  but  every 
morning  they  rode  out  to  the  Triangle,  and  spent  most  of  the 
day.  Ida  taught  the -women  to  sew,  and  cut  and  make  gar- 
ments of  various  description,  and  Mr.  May  employed  the  men 
out  of  doors,  paying  them  a  small  sum  each  week,  that  they 
might  acquire  the  habit  of  receiving  remuneration  for  then- 
labor,  and  of  spending  judiciously  what  they  received.  An 
hour  or  two  every  afternoon  was  devoted  to  oral  instruction. 
More  than  this,  they  did  not  attempt,  for  they  knew  that  they 
should  soon  become  objects  of  suspicion,  and  they  determined 
to  be  very  careful. 

In  the  pleasant  evenings  they  had  occasionally  visited  some 
of  Ida's  old  acquaintances  in  the  neighborhood,  but  the  grow- 
ing coldness  with  which  they  were  received  caused  her  so 
much  pain  that  gradually  these  were  discontinued ;  and  she 
tried  to  forget,  in  the  exclusive  devotion  which  her  father 
bestowed  upon  jier,  that  she  was  cast  out  from  society  which 
had  once  welcomed  her.  After  receiving  Mr.  Wynn's  mes- 
sage, through  Walter  Varian,  Mr.  May,  justly  offended  at 
the  treatment  she  had  met  with,  would  not  allow  her  to  make 
any  conciliatory  overtures ;  but  they  both  sent  many  expres- 


410  IDA     MAT. 

rions  of  grateful  thanks  to  Mrs  Wynn,  who  had  learned  this 
winter  so  much  sympathy  and  love  for  Ida,  that  she  was 
almost  content,  even  though  she  began  to  suspect  that  Walter 
was  learning  tho  same  lesson. 

For  the  sako  of  principle,  Ida  had  lost  caste,  and  she  was 
made  to  feel  this  in  various  ways  as  the  winter  wore  away. 
Sometimes  she  was  amused,  and  sometimes  annoyed,  by  these 
manifestations;  but  she  had  expected  them,  and  she  clung 
more  closely  than  ever  to  her  father,  and  thanked  Heaven  for 
sending  her  such  a  protector  at  the-  time  when  she  mo?t 
needed  his  aid.  She  was  not  surprised  to  receive  no  visits 
and  no  invitations,  to  be  met  with  a  cold  nod  of  recognition, 
or  a  still  colder  "cut  direct,"  when  she  saluted  her  acquaint- 
ances, as  she  chanced  to  meet  them  in  the  street  or  in  church ; 
for,  before  undertaking  this  enterprise,  she  had  counted  the 
cost.  She  knew  that  no  person  would  be  received  in  south- 
ern families  who  openly  avowed  a  practical  and  earnest  dis- 
like of  slavery,  unqualified  by  any  palliating  "if,"  or  "but." 
She  was  not  surprised  at  the  falling  off  of  friends,  but  she 
was  astonished,  and  a  little  alarmed  sometimes,  when,  as 
spring  advanced,  she  began  to  see  strangers,  who  passed  them 
in  their  daily  rides  to  and  from  the  Triangle,  turn  and  look 
after  them  with  frowning  faces ;  and  when  the  rude  "  clay- 
eaters,"  whom  they  sometimes  met,  stood  still  and  gazed 
at  them,  insolently,  as  if  they  were  objects  of  curiosity  am] 
hatred. 

One  day,  when  she  came  home,  she  found  Walter  waiting 
for  her  in  their  little  parlor,  with  a  face  in  which  amusement 


IDA     MAY.  41l 

and  vexation  were  strangely  blended.  Her  father  had  gone 
to  the  village  shops  to  make  some  necessary  purchases,  and, 
for  the  first  time  in  many  weeks,  she  found  herself  alone  with 
her  old  friend.  Indeed,  she  had  hardly  seen  him,  except  for 
a  few  moments  together,  since  he  had  been  established  at 
Oaklands.  His  visits  had  been  short,  and  his  manner  con- 
strained. 

Ida  was  far  from  suspecting  the  true  nature  of  his  feelings, 
but  she  thought  he  had  begun  to  discover  how  little  congeni- 
ality there  could  ever  be  between  himself  and  Mabel ;  and 
though  she  shrank  from  acknowledging,  even  to  herself,  that 
Walter  could  ever  be  more  to  her  than  the  elder  brother  he 
had  called  himself  in  her  childish  days,  her  pride  and  deli- 
cacy were  alarmed  lest  any  one  should  suppose  that  she  had 
to  do  with  his  change  of  feeling  towards  his  cousin.  There- 
fore she  had  withdrawn  herself  from  him  as  much  as  possible, 
Her  father  wondered  a  little ;  but  he  had  full  confidence  in 
[da,  and,  believing  she  had  some  good  reason  for  her  conduct, 
had  asked  no  questions  ;  and  Walter,  fancying  his  visits  not 
desired,  had  made  them  quite  rare. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  will  laugh  or  be  offended 
at  what  I  am  going  to  say,"  he  said,  abruptly  as  he  seated 
himself  at  the  window  beside  her,  on  this  afternoon. 

"  Tell  me,  and  see  which  it  will  be,"  she  answered,  smil- 
ing. 

'•  I  hope,  at  any  rate,  you  won't  be  frightened,  for  there  is 
no  danger,  only  I  thought  I  might  as  wel)  caution  you,"  he 

continued. 

35*= 


412  IDA     MAY 

"  For  pity's  sake,  tell  me !  You  do  frighten  me  now !  "  she 
said,  turning  pale,  and  looking  up  anxiously. 

"  It  is  nothing ;  only  I  am  afraid  you  have  been  a  little  less 
cautious  than  is  necessary,  in  this  state  of  society,  in  express- 
ing your  views  on  the  subject  of  freedom.  I  had  a  hint  to- 
day, from  the  bar-keeper  below,  that  something  you  and  your 
father  had  said  or  done  had  caused  considerable  talk  about 
town. 

*'  It  must  then  be  because  it  has  become  known  that  I 
intend  to  free  my  servants,"  said  Ida  ;  "  but,  surely,  I  have 
a  right  to  do  sc." 

"  Nobody  will  deny  that  right ;  you  know  it  is  a  funda- 
mental principle,  on  which  our  whole  social  system  rests,  that 
a  man  has  a  right  to  do  what  he  will  with  his  servants,"  said 
Walter,  running  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and  looking  up 
with  his  old  gleeful  expression,  which  Ida  had  not  seen  for  a 
long  time. 

"  Certainly,  then,  he  may  make  them  free  men,"  said  she. 

"  Certainly,"  repeated  Walter  ;  "  but  that  which  is  lawful 
may  not  be  always  expedient,  and  I  suspect  that  this  is  the 
'  head  and  front  of  your  offending.'  But  this  is  not  what  is 
alleged.  It  is  said  that  your  father  has  talked  imprudently 
in  the  public  parlor  here." 

"What  can  he  have  said?"  exclaimed  Ida.  "I  thought 
we  had  both  been  very  careful.  We  expected  to  be  watched, 
as  soon  as  we  became  known,  and,  therefore,  have  been  ex 
tremely  guarded  in  our  words  and  actions." 

"  It  is  said,"  replied  Walter,  "  that  Mr.  May  has  used  the 


IDA     MAY  413 

Words  master,  al. I 'slave,' in  speaking  of  our  domestic  insti- 
tution. You  see  I  cannot  treat  the  subject  with  the  gravity 
it  deserves,"  he  added,  unable  tc  refrain  from  laughing 
heartily,  as  he  repeated  these  chargos ;  "  but,  I  assure  you, 
the  bar-keeper  added  several  other  expressions,  equally  sedi- 
tious when  used  before  the  servants,  and  capped  the  climax 
by  informing  me  that  you —  dangerous  girl !  —  you  have  been 
seen,  by  two  men,  talking  to  an  old  woman  in  the  woods  !  * 
What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Is  it  possible,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  for  such  little  things 
we  are  esteemed  dangerous,  and  meet  everywhere  such  mali- 
cious looks  ?  I  knew  people  here  were  sensitive,  but  I  had 
no  idea  of  this." 

"  I  should  have  said  so  myself,  once,"  replied  Walter ; 
"  but  I  begin  to  think  that  no  purity  of  intention,  no  integrity 
of  action,  can  shield  a  person  from  annoyance,  if  he  is  sus- 
pected of  being  heretical  on  that  one  subject,  which  is  the 
hinge  whereon  all  our  social  and  political  interests  turn." 

"  I  remember  my  conversation  with  the  old  woman,  that 
morning  I  first  went  to  the  Triangle ;  but  it  was  wholly  acci 
dental,  and  chiefly  upon  religious  subjects.  She  was  a  good 
old  woman.  I  have  met  her  a  few  times  since,  and  given  her 
some  money,  for  she  is  miserably  poor ;  but  I  think  nobody 
has  seen  me  since  that  first  morning.  There  were  two  men 
out  then,  with  some  fierce-looking  dogs,  hunting  a  negro.  I 
saw  them  look  at  me  closely,  but  I  feared  no  harm." 

"  They  don't  like  to  have  strangers  talk  to  their  negroes, 
ttven  upon  indifferent  subjects,"  said  Walter;  "they  are 


414  IDA     MAY  « 

always  suspecting  harm,  and  it  is  doubly  unsafe  for  you,  since 
your  anti-slavery  ideas  happen  to  be  well  known.  I  would 
be  careful,  if  I  were  you,  even  to  a  degree  that  seems  needless, 
and  I  would  caution  your  father,  also.  He  lets  his  hatred  of 
oppression  be  seen  in  his  face,  sometimes,  when  he  says  noth- 
ing; and  even  looks  are  watched,  and  interpreted  as  danger- 
ous, in  these  regions." 

"  I  will  not  look  at  anything  black  again,  except  on  my 
own  plantation/'  said  Ida,  laughing,  "  be  it  man  or  woman, 
be  it  brute  or  human,  I  will  shut  my  eyes  the  moment  I 
discover  its  color,  and  I  will  advise  father  to  wear  a  mask 
over  his  too  expressive  face.  But  does  it  not  seem  ridicu- 
lous ?  Think  of  two  such  inoffensive  beings  as  we  are 
causing  a  commotion  in  town  !  It  is  too  absurd." 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Walter,  with  affected  serious- 
ness, "  it  is  time  you  should  learn  that  nothing  is  absurd 
which  offends  the  majesty  of  the  sovereign  people ;  nothing 
is  inoffensive  that,  directly  or  indirectly,  threatens  harm  or 
reproach  to  our  beloved  '  institution.' " 

"  Don't  say  '  ours,' "  said  Ida,  impatiently.  "  I  don't  like 
to  think  of  you  as  upholding  and  protecting  this  system,  that 
hinders  all  rational  liberty,  in  the  white  man  as  well  as  the 
negro.  Don't  say  '  ours.'  You  don't  belong  to  this  order  of 
things." 

"  Indeed,  I  wish  I  had  no  need  to  say  '  ours,'  "  said  Walter 
sorrowfully,  her  careless  words  plunging  him  back  into  At 
depths  of  perplexity  from  which  his  thoughts  had  for  a  while 
escaped. 


^  1  D  A     M  A  Y  .  415 

"  And  why  need  you  ?  "  said  Ida,  earnestly.  "  Walter,  I 
must  ask  you,  — though,  perhaps,  I  should  not,  —  why  you  thus 
hesitate,  and  struggle  against  your  convictions  of  right  ?  I 
know  it  cannot  be  from  any  paltry  pecuniary  motive.  What 
is  it  that  hinders  you  from  following  the  'more  excellent 
way,'  which  your  words  so  plainly  indicate  that  your  heart 
approves  ?  " 

Walter  Varian  rose  from  his  chair,  and  paced  the  room 
hurriedly  for  some  moments,  before  he  could  reply.  Then, 
stopping  suddenly  before  her,  he  fixed  his  expressive  eyes 
upon  her,  and  spoke  one  word  only  : 

»  Mabel  ! " 

"  Even  your  engagement  to  her  should  not  interfere  with 
this  sacred  duty  to  those  helpless  beings,  who  may,  with  all 
their  posterity,  be  doomed  to  unending  bondage,  unless  you 
set  them  free  now,  before  other  cares  and  other  duties  obscure 
the  path  which  is  now  so  plain,  and  render  that  difficult  which 
is  now  so  easy." 

Still  standing  before  her,  with  his  piercing  glances,  that 
sought  to  read  her  soul,  he  repeated,  impressively,  that  name  : 

"  Mabel  ! " 

"  Why  should  she  hinder  this  great  work?  "  persisted  Ida, 
moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  that  urged  her  on,  in  spite  of  her 
previous  determination.  "  0,  Walter !  I  know  it  involves  a 
sacrifice ;  but  should  you  not  place  your  convictions  of  duty 
nefore  your  love  or  your  happiness  ?  And,  after  all,  the  self- 
aenial  will  not  be  very  great.  You  have  youth,  and  educa- 
tion, and  abilities,  that  will  develop  themselves  more  and 


416  IDA     MAY. 

more  under  this  new  stimulus  to  exertion.  If  Mabel  loven 
you,  she  will  be  proud  of  your  fame,  and  rejoice  in  your 
firmness  of  principle ;  and,  if  you  love  her,  why  not  have 
sufficient  confidence  in  her  to  believe  this  ?  You  have  never 
confided  to  her  your  trouble." 

"  Are  you  then  so  deceived  ? "  exclaimed  Walter,  vehe 
mently,  seizing  both  her  hands  as  he  spoke,  and  holding  them 
tightly  clasped  in  his.  "  Are  you  so  blind  as  not  to  see  that 
it  is  only  because  I  do  iwt  love  her,  that  I  cannot  speak  to 
her  upon  this  subject  ?  If  I  loved  her, — if  it  were  a  question 
between  my  happiness  and  my  duty,  —  I  should  not  have  re- 
frained from  all  action,  in  this  cowardly,  sneaking  manner. 
I  could  have  given  up  my  happiness,  and  thanked  God  for 
strength  to  do  my  duty.  But  it  seemed  dishonorable  to  me 
to  mention  this  subject  now,  knowing,  as  I  do,  that  it  will 
surely  break  the  ties  that  .bind  us  together,  —  now,  when  those 
ties  have  become  like  iron  fetters,  that  gall  and  weary.  That 
would,  indeed,  be  '  stealing  the  livery  of  heaven  to  serve 
the  devil  in ! '  O,  Ida !  I  am  sorely  perplexed.  Pity 
me  !" 

He  sank  down  on  a  low  bench  at  her  feet,  and  pressed  her 
hands  against  his  burning  eyes.  It  was  an  infinite  relief  to 
her  to  escape  that  impassioned  gaze,  and  she  no  longer  sought 
to  withdraw  them  from  his  grasp. 

"  I  do  pity  you,  "Walter,"  she  answered,  striving  to  speak 
calmly.  "  J  pity  you,  and  I  see  that  I  judged  you  wrongly. 
Forgive  ms  'iat  I  blamed  you,  and  do  n«  t  let  us  talk  of  tbi« 
»ny  more. ' 


1  I)  A      >i  A   V  .  '  41V 

"Eorghe  you!"  lie  said,  without  looking  up.  "  I  wouio 
forgive  you  a  thousand  times  more  than  this  !  Only  do  not 
despise  me  for  rny  faithlessness,  for  my  vacillation,  and  weak- 
ness of  purpose." 

"  Despise  you  !  "  exclaimed  Ida,  in  amazement.  "  What 
could  have  given  you  that  idea  ?  No,  I  think  you  are  in  a 
sad  dilemma ;  but  I  can  do  or  say  nothing  to  relieve  you. 
Perhaps  you  have  mistaken  Mabel,  —  perhaps  you  do  not  do 
her  justice.  She  loves  you,  and,  therefore,  she  must  seek  to 
please  you.  Her  views  and  feelings  on  this  subject  may 
change  when  she  knows  yours." 

"  Have  I  mistaken  her  ?  Have  I  been  unjust  to  her  ?  "  he 
said,  suddenly  raising  his  head,  and  looking  anxiously  into 
her  face.  "  I  wish  you  would  tell  me,  Ida,  for  you  have 
been  with  her  during  these  five  years  that  have  developed  her 
character,  and  you  must  know  better  than  I.  Tell  me,  is 
she  selfish  and  cold-hearted,  as  she  seemed  to  be  when  you 
were  at  the  hall,  or  is  the  gentleness  she  has  shown  since,  the 
right  index  to  her  character  ?  " 

Ida   colored  violently  at  this  question,  and  it  was  some 
moments  before  she  answered.     Then  she  said,  candidly,  "  I 
io  not  wish  to  tell  you  what  I  think  about  it,  Walter.     1 
know  that  she  does  not  like  me,  and  I  fear  I  do  not  like  her 
well  enough  to  estimate  her  character  truly.     I  believe  il 
must  be  partly  my  own  fault,  for  she  seems  to  be  universallj 
admired ;  but,  certainly,  our  spheres  do  not  accord.     Let  u 
talk  of  something  else.     Time  may  bring  you  safely  out  iroi 
your  perplexity,  if  you  are  patient,' 


418  IDA     MAY. 

"  Do  YOU  thijk  so,  —  do  you  really  think  so?"  he  cried, 
joyfully.  '  O,  if  I  am  ever  a  free  man  again,  then,  Ida, 
then—  " 

He  paused  abruptly,  and  compressed  his  lips  firmly  together, 
as  if  to  keep  oack  words  that  struggled  for  utterance.  The 
hope,  •which  he  had  always  rejected  so  sternly  when  whispered 
by  bis  own  heart,  he  accepted  from  her  lips  as  a  certain 
prophecy.  He  gazed  up  into  her  eyes,  eagerly,  passionately, 
as  if  he  would  thus  telegraph  to  her  mind  the  thoughts  he 
had  forbidden  his  lips  to  speak. 

Ida  saw  that  he  had  understood  far  more  than  her  words 
wore  intended  to  convey,  and  she  became  greatly  confused. 
His  glances  seemed  to  penetrate  to  her  very  soul,  and  compel 
her  to  acknowledge  emotions,  of  which  she  had,  until  now, 
been  unconscious,  —  feelings,  whose  very  existence  she  had 
obstinately  and  perseveringly  ignored.  He  still  held  her 
hands  so  firmly  that  she  could  not  move,  and,  even  when  she 
turned  away  her  head,  she  felt  the  power,  the  magnetism,  of 
his  earnest  eyes.  Her  heart  palpitated  wildly,  —  her  lips 
trembled,  —  tears  filled  her  eyes,  —  she  grew  deadly  pii)", , 
and  the  room  seemed  to  whirl  and  darken  around  I  er. 

"Walter  sprang  up  in  alarm.  "  Are  you  faint  ?  Have  A 
hurt  you  ?  Have  I  offended  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  bending 
over  her  with  the  utmost  solicitude. 

"  0,  no !  I  am  nervous  and  fatigued,  that  is  all,"  she 
answered,  recovering  herself  by  a  violent  effort,  and  smiling 
through  her  tears  at  her  own  weakness. 

"  I  have  staid  too  long,"  said  Walter,  after  a  few  moments 


IDA     MAY.  419 

during  which  he  had  stood  silently  beside  her.     "  You  are 
sure  you  arc  not  offended  with  me  ?  "  he  added. 

"  I  am  not  offended  now,"  she  replied,  hesitatingly,  and  a 
little  coldly,  turning  her  face  from  him  as  she  spoke ;  "  but 
you  must  not  talk  to  me  again  about  this.  I  was  very  foolish 
to  introduce  the  subject.  I  would  not,  had  I  known  —  " 

"  I  am  thankful  you  did,"  exclaimed  he,  as  she  paused  in 
midden  confusion.  "  I  have  suffered  much  because  I  could 
not  explain  to  you  why  it  was  that  I  did  not  act  as  I  felt 
Now  I  shall  feel  easier,  since  you  understand  me." 

"  I  wonder  why  father  does  not  come,  —  it  is  nearly  tea 
time  !  "  said  Ida,  abruptly,  changing  the  conversation,  anxious 
to  prevent  further  embarrassment. 

"He  is  coming  now,  and  I  must  go.  Good-by,"  said 
Walter. 

He  took  her  hand,  with  a  lingering  pressure,  and  again  his 
eyes  met  hers,  with  that  expressive  look  which  made  her 
tremble  like  a  reed ;  but  she  controlled  herself  bravely,  and 
was  giving  him  a  message  for  Mrs.  Wynn,  when  the  footsteps 
they  had  heard  on  the  stairs  came  nearer,  and  the  door  opened. 
They  turned,  expecting  to  see  Mr.  May ;  but,  in  his  place, 
there  appeared  the  pallid  face,  and  tall,  emaciated  figure  oi 
Maum  Abby,  holding  in  her  arms  a  little  child. 

"  Maum  Abby  !  "  they  both  exclaimed,  in  surprise  ;  and 
[da,  thankful  for  almost  any  interruption  at  this  moment, 
sprang  to  her  side,  and  clasped  her  hand  warmly,  as  she  led 
ner  to  a  seat. 

A  faint  smile  flitted  over  her  grief-worn  face,  as  she  mel 
36 


420  IDA      MAY. 

this  cordial  greeting,  and,  seating  on  her  lap  the  little  boy  wb" 
had  been  clinging  around  her  neck,  she  said, 

"  You  look  surprised  to  see  me,  Miss  Ida,  and  perhaps  you 
will  be  still  more  astonished,  when  you  know  the  errand  that 
brought  me.  You  were  my  best  friend,  my  only  comforter, 
in  that  dark,  dark  hour  when  my  heart  was  broken,  and  1 
have  come  to  you  again  for  help." 

Her  voice  was  low  and  calm,  and  though  a  shudder  ran 
over  her  whole  frame,  as  she  referred  to  her  son's  death,  shn 
manifested  few  other  signs  of  emotion. 

"  This  little  boy  is  Elsie's  child,"  said  Ida,  inquiringly, 
divining  at  once  the  wishes  of  her  companion. 

"  It  is ;  and  Elsie  is  dead." 

"  I  heard  of  her  death,"  said  Ida,  "  and  I  was  almo«t 
thankful ;  for  the  poor  little  thing  was  not  fitted  for  the  strug- 
gle and  toil  of  life.  It  is  well  that  her  grief  killed  her  so 
soon." 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  grief  that  killed  her  ?  0,  no ! 
grief  cannot  kill.  It  blights,  .it  sears,  it  tortures,  but  it  can- 
not kill ;  else  why  am  I  here  ?  "  said  Maum  Abby,  pressing 
one  hand  over  her  heart,  and  looking  with  a  mournful  earnest- 
ness, that  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  her  listeners. 

"  This  little  boy  looks  like  her.  What  is  his  name  ?  "  said 
Ida,  wishing  to  divert  her  attention  from  such  sad  memories. 

"  He  has  his  father's  name,"  replied  Maum  Abby  ;  "  but 
he  is  not  a  bold,  bright  baby,  as  his  father  was.  0,  how 
ghort,  how  short  the  time  seems,  since  I  held  my  son  in  my 
arms,  as  his  son  is  sitting  now  !  O,  what  a  little  time  '  "  she 


IDA     MAY.  421 

added,  sadly  caressing  the  child ;  "  and  now  nothi  ng  is  left 
me  —  nothing  but  this !  " 

She  bowed  her  face  on  the  little  head  that  rested  against 
her  bosom,  and  they  all  wept  together.  Walter  walked  to 
the  window  to  hide  his  emotion,  and  he  was  the  first  to  recover 
nimself. 

"  Don't  cry  mauma,"  he  said,  trying  to  speak  cheerfully, 
though  his  voice  was  somewhat  husky.  "  This  baby  will  grow 
up  to  be  a  brave  little  fellow,  and  a  great  comfort  to  you." 

She  raised  herself,  and  shook  her  head,  as  she  answered, 
:'  God  grant  that  the  sorrows  of  life  may  have  ended  for  me 
long  before  he  grows  to  be  a  man !  I  love  him,  but  I  am  old 
and  feeble  now,  and  I  cannot  do  for  him  even  so  much  as  I 
3ould  do  for  his  poor  father.  No,  Master  Walter,  I  look  for 
no  more  comfort  from  anything  mortal.  I  have  brought  him 
here  to  give  him  to  Miss  Ida.  Will  you  take  him,  my  dear 
young  lady  ?  Will  you  take  the  orphan  boy  to  a  land  where  he 
can  be  educated,  and  made  a  blessing  to  himself  and  others  ? 
0,  Ida,  will  you  take  my  child  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  him,  mauma,"  said  Ida,  "  and, 
with  Venus'  aid,  I  think  I  can  take  care  of  him.  He  is  a 
dear  little  fellow !  Will  he  come  to  me  ?  " 

She  held  out  her  hands  to  him,  as  she  spoke,  with  the 
tender,  winning  language  a  woman  involuntarily  adopts  in 
speaking  to  a  young  child,  and  he  raised  himself  from  the 
arm  on  which  he  had  been  leaning,  in  timid  quietness ;  a 
half  smile  broke  over  his  face,  which  was  before  too  sad  for 
his  years ;  and  after  the  glances  of  his  large,  serious  eyes  had 


422  IDA     MAY 

wandered  from  her  to  his  nurse,  and  back  again  to  her  face 
he  held  out  his  tiny  handr  to  hers,  and  sprang  into  her  arms, 
Her  heart  warmed  towards  him,  as  she  felt  his  soft  cheek 
touching  hers  with  a  confiding  pressure. 

Maum  Abby  smiled  faintly.  "  He  knows  that  your  heart 
is  large  enough  to  give  him  room,"  she  said.  "  He  is  a  gentle, 
quiet  child,  and  I  think  his  mother's  anxiety  and  sorrow  have 
prevented  him  from  learning  to  laugh  and  shout  as  most 
babies  do,  and  have  kept  him  puny  and  delicate.  I  could  not 
bear  to  have  him  raised  in  that  miserable,  ignorant,  degraded 
condition  in  which  his  mother's  family  are  living,  and  so  I 
took  him  home ;  but  I  saw  that  Miss  Emma  felt  anxious, 
though  master  saicl  nothing  against  it,  lest  something  un- 
pleasant might  happen,  if  the  child  staid  there ;  and  I  am 
old  —  old  in  years  and  sorrows  —  and  I  have  no  life  or  energy 
to  raise  such  a  boy  as  his  father's  child  must  be  in  a  few 
years,  even  if  I  live ;  and,  if  I  die,  there  are  evils  and  dangers 
that  I  shudder  to  think  of.  0,  Miss  Ida,  if  you  will  take 
him,  my  prayers  and  thanks  shall  follow  you  every  day 
of  your  life,  till  the  Lord  pleases  to  call  me  to  a  better 
world !  " 

"  I  will  certainly  take  him/'  replied  Ida.  "  I  am  going 
away  from  here  soon,  but  I  will  always  provide  for  the  little 
one,  and  see  that  he  is  well  cared  for,  and  educated  as  he  gets 
older.  Venus  is  a  mighty  good  nurse,  and  she  can  take 
care  of  him  now,  and  will  be  glad  to,  I  know.  She  is  fond 
of  children." 

"  I  hear  your  father  has  come  hack."  said  Maum  Abbv 


IDA     MAY.  423 

after  a  short  pause,  during  which  Ida  was  caressing  and  talk- 
ing to  the  child,  "  and  I  bless  God,  ever}  day,  that  you  arc 
not  lonely  and  unprotected  any  more.  0,  this  is  a  sad, 
weary  world,  when  we  feel  as  if  we  had  nobody  to  love 
best,  —  nobody  to  cling  to  with  the  strongest  cord  in  our 
hearts !  " 

"  God  has,  indeed,  blessed  me  beyond  what  I  expected  or 
deserved,  in  sending  back  my  father.  It  was  like  receiving 
him  from  the  grave,  for,  even  in  my  wildest  dreams,  I  have 
never  dared  hope  that  he  was  not  dead." 

"  You  have  had  many  sorrows  and  trials ;  I  used  to  see 
them  when  you  lived  at  our  house  sometimes,  and  there  were 
others  greater,  that  came  before  and  afterwards  ;  but  now,  I 
hope,  they  are  all  over,  and  you  have  nothing  but  happiness 
before  you.  You  have  tried  to  do  right,  and  you  have  beer 
a  blessing  to  many  poor  creatures  that  had  nobody  else  to 
help  them.  You  have  not  been  selfish  or  afraid  to  do  your 
duty,  and  I  know  God  will  bless  you,"  said  Maum  Abby, 
warmly.  "  I  know  you  will  have  a  peaceful,  and  joyful  life 
after  this." 

A  beautiful  color  mantled  Ida's  cheek,  as  she  heard  these 
praises ;  but,  as  she  looked  up,  she  met  Walter's  gaze,  and  a 
pang  of  hidden  sorrow  shot  through  her  heart.  Alas !  with 
all  the  happiness  of  a  father's  love,  with  all  the  blessings  of 
the  grateful  hearts  around  her,  was  she  not  conscious,  even 
now,  of  a  heavy  weight  on  her  heart ;  a  trial  all  the  greater 
fJiat  it  must  be  borne  in  secret  and  alone  ?  Almost  uncon- 
scio  asly  she  replied,  in  the  words  of  the  venerable  Thomas  A 
30* 


424  IDA     MAT. 

Kempis,  and  she  spoke  them  rather  to  her  own  soul  than  ia . 
those  who  listened : 

"  For  this  whole  mortal  life  is  ful.  of  miseries,  and  signed 
on  every  side  with  crosses.  But,  if  thou  trust  in  the  Lord, 
fortitude  shall  be  given  thee  from  heaven." 

"I  remember  that,"  said  Maum  Abby.  "You  read  it  to 
me  once,  and  I  have  often  said  it  to  myself  since.  0,  Miss 
Ida,  sometimes  I  have  felt  as  if  no  one  in  all  the  world  had 
so  heavy  a  cross  to  bear  as  that  which  is  laid  on  me.  It 
presses  me  down  —  it  bows  me  to  the  earth.  When  first  it 
came  upon  me,  I  thought  it  would  crush  me,  but,  through  the 
mercy  of  the  Lord,  it  is  growing  lighter  now.  In  my  first 
mad  grief,  I  thought  there  was  no  consolation  left  for  me ;  in 
my  blindness,  I  dared  —  poor,  weak  worm,  that  I  am!  —  to 
call  in  question  the  justice  and  loving-kindness  of  the  Lord.  I 
said  God  had  forgotten  me.  '  So  foolish  was  I,  and  ignorant, 
I  was  a  beast  before  him ! '  " 

She  had  risen  as  she  spoke,  and  now  stood  with  her  hands 
clasped,  and  her  eyes,  unnaturally  large  and  bright,  in  con- 
trast with  the  ghastly  paleness  of  her  emaciated  face,  glow- 
ing with  the  fervor  of  her  emotions,  as  she  looked  upward  with 
an  earnest  gaze  that  seemed  to  pierce  the  heavens.  Thus  she 
stood  some  moments,  during  which  not  a  word  was  spoken. 
Absorbed  and  entranced,  she  appeared  unmindful  that  she  was 
not  alone,  and  Ida  and  Walter,  knowing  her  deep  sorrows, 
were  silent  with  sympathy  and  awe.  Then  her  lips  moved, 
at  first  inaudibly,  and  a  strange,  solemn  expression  of  joj 


IDA     MAY.  42& 

seemed  to  a.eal  over  her  features,  brightening  and  softening 
their  rigid  outlines. 

"I  will  trust  in  the  Lord,"  she  said;  "though  he  slay 
me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  him !  I  will  bear  his  indignation, 
because  I  have  sinned  against  him,  until  he  plead  my  cause, 
ind  execute  judgment  for  m&.  He  will  bring  me  forth  to  the 
light,  and  I  shall  behold  his  righteousness.  He  leadeth  me 
by  a  way  that  I  knew  not.  Clouds  and  darkness  are  round 
about  his  throne ;  but  the  Lord  is  good,  and  from  out  the 
storm  and  the  whirlwind  I  hear  a  voice  saying,  '  It  is  I ;  be 
not  afraid  ! '  The  waves  and  the  billows  have  gone  over  me , 

I  sink  in  deep  waters,  where  there  is  no  standing.     Bitter, 

o 
bitter  is  the  cup,  but  my  Father  hath  given  it  to  me,  and  shall 

I  not  drink  it  ?     Even  so,  Father,  for  so  it  seemed  good  in 
thy  sight ! " 

She  continued  for  some  moments  to  repeat  passage  after 
passage  of  Scripture,  with  an  earnestness  and  a  readiness  that 
showed  how  her  troubled  heart  had  seized  upon  the  divine 
consolations  they  afforded.  For  many  years  she  had  been  an 
untiring  reader  of  the  Bible,  and  since  her  mind  began  to 
arouse  itself  from  the  overwhelming  afljiction  of  Alfred's  death, 
those  words  of  healing  and  comfort  had  sustained  her  amid 
the  sad  memories  that  haunted  her  lonely  dwelling  ;  and  often 
had  lifted  her  above  all  trial  and  sorrow  by  the  strong  power 
of  submission  and  faith.  Dark  and  mysterious  as  the  event 
seemed  to  be,  she  had  bowed  her  soul  to  receive  it  unmurmur- 
ingly,  as  part  of  the  discipline  of  her  life  and,  amid  her 
Bereavement .  and  '"desolation,  she  new  sorr  etimes  felt  the 


426  IDA     MAY. 

lieaven-born  joy  of  entire  self-abnegation,  —  a  joy  little 
'oiown,  and,  alas  !  seldom  desired. 

Taking  the  child  again  from  Ida's  arms,  she  held  him  a 
little  while,  caressing  and  pressing  him  fondly  to  her  bosom, 
for  at  tht  moment  of  parting,  her  heart  yearned  over  this 
last  relic  of  her  idolized  son.  But  at  length  she  put  him 
away  from  her,  and,  murmuring  an  invocation  of  blessings 
upon  him  and  Ida,  she  turned  suddenly,  and  passed  out  of  the 
room,  as  if  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to  speak  words  of 
farewell. 

Walter  followed  her,  and  found  the  wagon,  which  had 

brought  her  from  the  hall,  waiting  for  her  at  the  door  of  the 

o 
hotel.     He  saw  her  safely  set  out  upon  her  return,  and  then 

went  back  to  say  good-night  to  Ida ;  but  when  he  reached 
the  parlor,  he  found  it  vacated.  She  had  not  supposed  he 
would  return,  having  been  so  long  detained  after  his  first 
leave-taking,  and  she  had  proceeded  directly  to  her  chamber, 
to  show  Venus  the  little  boy  who  had  been  so  unexpectedly 
committed  to  her  care. 

Venus,  who  was  passionately  fond  of  Babies,  welcomed  this 
little  veteran  of  two  summers  with  enthusiasm,  as  a  most  de- 
lightful addition  to  the  family ;  but  he  could  not  be  induced  to 
allow  her  to  take  him.  He  was  tired  and  hungry,  and  he 
began  to  cry,  and  clung  to  Ida,  so  that  she  was  obliged  to  feed 
and  undress  him,  and  at  length  the  long  lashes  shut  heavily 
over  his  mild  black  eyes,  and  ha  slept  upon  her  bosom.  It 
was  quite  dark  before  she  was  released  from  this  new  but 
pleasing  employment  ;  and  then  leaving  the  child  in  Venus' 


IDA    SfAY  427 

care,  she  went  to  the  parlor.  She  found  her  father  sitting 
there  alone.  Walter  had  waited  some  time,  and  then,  sup- 
posing she  wished  to  avoid  him,  by  her  long  absence,  he  had 
gone  away,  with  feelings  strangely  divided  between  pain  fo* 
ftis  love  and  admirat.on  for  its  object. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

"  0,  but  man,  proud  man 
Dreised  in  a  little  brief  authority, 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he  's  most  assured, 
His  glassy  essence,  —  like  an  angry  ape, 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven, 
As  make  the  angels  weep." 

MEASURE  FOB  MEASDRB 

THE  next  morning,  just  as  Mr.  May  was  about  leaving  the 
little  parlor,  where  he  and  his  daughter  had  been  sitting,  wait- 
ing for  their  horses  to  be  saddled  for  the  morning  ride,  a 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and,  when  it  was  opened,  the 
hotel-keeper  bowed  himself  into  the  room.  The  suppressed 
agitation  of  his  face  arrested  Ida's  attention,  as  she  bade  him 
good-morning,  and  he  had  hardly  taken  the  chair  she  offered 
him  before  he  made  known  the  object  of  his  visit,  by  saying, 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  intruding,  but  the  importance  of 
what  I  have  to  say  must  be  my  excuse.  I  am  sorry  to  have 
to  tell  you,  sir  and  madam,  that  I  fear  you  are  in  some 
danger  here." 

"  From  what  source  are  we  in  danger  ?  "  said  Mr.  May. 

••It  is  a  matter  of  great  regret  to  me,  I  assure  you,  sir, 


IDA     MAY. 

• 

and  I  thought  it  but  friendly  to  inform  you  of  the  charges 
against  you,  I  hope  yoa  will  excuse  me;  but  it  is  a  grave 
matter, — a  very  grave  matter.  It  is  said  that  you  are 
abolitionists" 

He  pronounced  this  last  word  in  a  low,  husky  whisper,  as 
if  afraid  to  mention  a  term  so  full  of  infamy  and  danger  ;  and 
when  it  was  spoken,  he  sat  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  with 
his  face  flushed,  and  his  hands  trembling  from  excitement.  He 
was  a  kind-hearted  man,  and  he  felt  truly  sorry  for  his 
guests,  although  he  was  not  entirely  without  that  disgust  and 
dread  which  every  southerner  feels,  involuntarily,  at  the  men- 
tion of  that  class  of  persons  to  whom  he  supposed  they 
belonged. 

Mr.  May  could  hardly  help  smiling  at  his  tone  and  manner ; 
but,  nevertheless,  he  knew  that  all  sorts  of  difficulty  and 
danger  were  connected  with  this  charge.  He  glanced  at  Ida, 
who  had  grown  very  pale  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  with 
a  quick,  nervous  motion,  and  replied,  quietly, 

"  Do  not  alarm  my  daughter  unnecessarily,  I  beg.  I  think 
there  will  be  no  trouble.  If,  by  the  term  '  abolitionist,' 
you  mean  a  person  who  considers  your  system  of  domestic  ser- 
vitude a  great  wrong,  —  an  evil  that  affects  all  classes  of 
society,  and  leads  to  untold  suffering  and  crime,  —  then  I 
can  only  say  peccavi.  But  if  you  mean  thaftt  in  the  slightest 
possible  manner,  we  have  interfered  with  your  servants,  or 
those  of  any  other  man,  I  can  affirm  boldly  that  the  charge  is 
itterly  false." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  replied  Mr.  Armitage  (for  such 


*30  IDA    MAT. 

was  his  name).  "  I  am  sure  you  have  never  meddled  with  my 
•servants,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  prove  that  you  have 
had  nothing  te  do  with  any  others.  I  assure  you,  sir,  I  have 
done  the  utmost  in  my  power  to  quiet  these  reports." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Mr.  May ;  "  you  may  be  sure  they 
are  without  foundation.  I  have  my  own  ideas  respecting 
my  duties  to  the  negroes  left  my  daughter  by  her  guardian, 
but  I  seek  to  control  no  other  man's  conscience,  and  I 
meddle  not  with  any  other  man's  affairs.  Who  saya 
I  do  ?  " 

"  There  are  various  persons,  who  have  been  producing  somo 
agitation,  by  using  your  name  and  Miss  May's,"  replied  he, 
evasively ;  "  and,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  I  fear  you 
have  given  some  occasion  for  the  rumors,  although  I  am  sure 
it  was  through  inadvertence,  and  ignorance  of  our  customs. 
Several  times,  in  general  conversation,  you  have  quite  warmly 
upheld  the  northern  side  of  the  argument  —  " 

"  Cannot  a  man  express  his  own  opinions  here,  if  they  hap- 
pen to  be  adverse  to  those  of  his  neighbor  ? "  interrupted  Mr. 
May,  with  some  warmth. 

"  In  private,  among  his  friends,  certainly,"  replied  Mr. 
Armitage ;  "  but  in  public,  it  is  generally  unwise  to  'do  so, 
and  when  such  things  are  said  before  the  negroes,  they  are 
considered  seditious.  Perhaps  you  did  not  know  it,  but  it  is 
so.  And,  beside  this,  Miss  May  has  been  seen  talking  with 
one  or  two  negro  women  in  the  woods,  and  that  you  know  is 
quite  contrary  to  custom." 

"  I  did  not  know  it  was,"  replied  Ida.     "  When  I  lived 


IDA     MAT.  431 

a.t  Wynn  Hall,  we  used  frequently  to  stop  to  chat  with 
the  women  washing  in  the  woods,  as  we  were  riding  out." 

"  Ah,  certainly  !  "  said  Mr.  Armitage  ;  "  but  that  was 
quite  different.  Then  you  were  with  some  members  of  that 
family,  doubtless,  and  any  one  who  saw  you  might,  by  inquir- 
ing, learn  that  you  were  a  person  from  whom  nothing  could 
be  feared.  But  now,  pardon  me,  miss,  it  is  well  known 
that  there  has  been  a  little  coolness  between  yourself  and  the 
Wynn  family,  on  account  of  this  very  matter  of  interfering 
with  servants ;  and  that  makes  it  quite  a  different  matter,  you 
pee." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Ida,  "  because  I  do  not  live  at 
Wynn  Hall  since  my  father  came  home,  I  am  not  to  be 
.allowed  to  bestow  charity  on  a  poor  old  woman,  or  to  talk 
with  her  upon  religious  matters.  Do  you  not  yourself  think 
this  is  making  a  fuss  about  a  very  little  thing  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Armitage,  apologetically,  "  we  don't  like 
to  have  strangers  talk  to  our  negroes.  It  makes  them  dis- 
contented. They  can  detect,  in  a  moment,  the  difference 
between  one  who  is  used  to  them,  and  a  person  from  the 
north  j  and  they  are  so  cunning  and  treacherous,  that  they 
avail  themselves  of  it  at  once,  to  tell  all  sorts  of  stories,  and 
so  give  people  a  very  wrong  idea  of  the  true  state  of  things 
here.  Half  the  stories  in  the  northern  newspapers  are  got  in 
this  way  from  the  servants,  and  have  no  truth  in  them.  The 
negroes  will  lie  so,  that  one  can't  depend  a  moment  on  what 
they  say.  You  get  no  right  ideas  respecting  our  domestic 
institution  by  talking  with  them.  They  are  an  ungratefu1 
37 


432  IDA     MAY. 

set,  and  will  often  Complain  of  the  very  best  of  masters. 
Of  course,  v;e  don't  like  to  be  misrepresented  in  that  way." 

"  Some  servants  seem  very  much  attached  to  their  masters,' 
said  Mr.  May. 

"  Yes,  O  yes  !  No  doubt  the  most  of  them  are.  When 
they  have  kind  masters,  they  are  always  very  fond  of  them. 
In  fact,  theie  is  no  tie  so  strong  as  that  between  an  old  serv- 
ant and  the  family  he  belongs  to.  Many  a  one  that  has 
been  enticed  away,  has  come  back  after  a  little  while,  and 
begged  to  be  taken  home  again.  They  hate  the  abolitionists 
as  much  as  their  masters  do,  I  assure  you." 

"  Are  not  most  of  the  masters,  about  here,  kind  to  their 
servants  ? "  asked  Mr.  May. 

"  0  yes,  yes !  "  replied  Mr.  Annitage.  "  I  know  of  one  or 
two  who  are  a  little  hard,  but  generally  it  has  been  the  fault 
of  the  negroes.  There  are  some  negroes  so  ugly"  that  a  man 
can't  get  along  without  severe  measures.  However,  that  is 
rare ;  and,  as  I  said,  as  a  general  thing,  they  are  very  much 
attached  to  their  masters,  and  would  not  be  free  if  they  could. 
Yes,  it  is  so  all  around  here.  Most  of  the  masters  are  kind. 
In  fact,  there  are  very  few  bad  masters.  That  is  quite  a 
mistake  to  think  so." 

"  What  harm,  then,  has  it  done  for  my  daughter  to  talk  to 
a  few  negro  women,  if  they  are  so  generally  contented  ? "  said 
Mr.  May,  quietly. 

Mr.  Armitage  colored,  for  he  saw  that  he  had  contradicted 
nirnself,  and  answered,  in  some  excitement, 

"  I  did  not  say  that  all  were  contented  ;  and  if  any  of  th« 


i  D  A   M  .1  r ,  .  43b 

bad  negroes  find  out  that  there  is  any  one  about  who  does  not 
exactly  understand  Mir  institutions,  they  are  apt  to  create 
trouble.  In  fact,  sir,  the  negroes  are  all  so  fickle  and 
changeable,  that  a  man  can  often  turn  them  against  their  best 
friends,  if  he  tries ;  and  there  is  such  a  systematic  effort  mak- 
ing now,  by  bad  men  at  the  north,  to  entice  our  servants 
away,  and  stir  them  up  against  their  masters,  that  we  arc 
obliged,  in  self-defence,  to  be  very  strict  in  our  precautions 
against  all  strangers  who  are  not  well  known.  You  know, 
sir,"  he  added,  bending  forward  and  speaking  low,  "  there 
has  once  or  twice  been  an  attempt  at  insurrection,  in  this 
State." 

"  I  know  it,  and  every  humane  person  must  turn  with 
horror  from  the  idea  of  a  servile  insurrection ;  but  I  don't 
yet  understand  why  anything  we  have  done  can  be  supposed 
dangerous.  The  pillars  of  state  must  rest  on  an  insecure 
foundation,  if  my  daughter's  little  hand  can  shake  them ;  and, 
as  for  me,  I  have  attended  to  my  own  affairs,  and  I  shall  be 
much  obliged  to  the  gentlemen  about  town  if  in  future  they 
will  attend  to  theirs." 

"  They  consider  it  part  of  their  business,  just  now,  to  watch 
you  and  Miss  May,"  said  Mr.  Armitage,  smiling.  "  I  don't 
wonder  that  you  are  annoyed,  sir,  for  it  is  a  very  disagreeable 
thing,  and  I  regret  it  exceedingly.  Don't  you  think  it  might 
be  well  for  you  both  to  ^ave  town  a  little  while,  until  the 
excitement  abates  ? " 

"  I  never  ran  from  a  foe  yet,"  said  Mr.  May,  somewhat 
proudly,  "  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  begin  now.  Besides,"  he 


134  .  T  P  A     M  A  Y  . 

added,  more  calmly,  "  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  right  fcr  us 
to  leave  our  business  at  the  Triangle.  The  negroes  are  just 
getting  a  little  in  train  .'or  the  life  we  propose  they  shall  lead 
when  we  take  them  away  ;  and,  as  our  first  care  was  to  dis 
miss  the  overseer,  there  is  no  one  there  to  take  care  of  them, 
and  prevent  the  disorder  that  would  be  likely  to  follow  our 
departure.  In  a  few  weeks  more  I  shall  receive  their  free 
papers  from  Charleston,  and  then  we  shall  all  leave,  probably 
never  to  return." 

"  Still,"  said  Mr.  Armitage,  anxiously,  "  I  advise  you  to 
leave  immediately.  I  cannot  answer  for  the  consequences,  if 
you  remain ;  and  it  was  this  I  came  to  tell  you  this  morning. 
It  has  been  a  serious  matter  to  some  men,  I  can  assure  you. 
I  knew  one  man  who  came  here  from  the  north,  and  was  sus- 
pected in  this  way,  and  a  mob  collected  and  nearly  killed  him, 
riding  him  out  of  town  on  a  rail." 

Ida  gave  a  faint  cry  at  these  words  and  clung  to  her  father 
in  great  alarm. 

"  Let  us  go  to-day,"  she  said.  "  0,  father,  do  not  run  such 
a  fearful  risk  !  " 

"  You  shall  go,  poor  child ! "  he  answered,  caressing  her 
soothingly.  "  I  will  send  you  away  with  Mr.  Varian ;  but, 
for  me,  I  believe  it  is  my  duty  to  stay,  and  I  shall  remain. 
Is  th^re  no  law  in  the  land  to  restrain  mob  violence  ? "  he 
added,  firmly,  turning  to  Mr.  Armitage. 

"  If  you  had  powerful  friends  to  answer  for  you,  you  might 
take  refuge  in  the  law,  in  case  the  worst  came ;  though  the 
alternative  the  law  offers  is  poor  enough,  — ^  a  heavy  fine  and 


IDA     MAY.  435 

,ong  imprisonment,  for  seditious  language ;  but,  unknown 
and  unsupported  as  you  are,  I  doubt  if  the  mob  could  be 
restrained,  and  made  to  wait  the  slow  process  of  the  law. 
Again  let  me  urge  you  to  go  immediately.  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  have  any  trouble  of  this  kind  nappen  in  my 
house." 

"  It  would  be  a  great  disadvantage  to  your  hotel,  if  it 
became  known  abroad,"  said  Mr.  May,  looking  at  him 
impressively,  struck  by  the  sudden  thought  that  perhaps 
his  fears  on  that  point  induced  him  to  exaggerate  the 
danger. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  impute  my  friendly  warning  to  mean 
motives  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  angrily.  "  If  you  do,  you  are  very 
unjust  to  me." 

"  I  do  not ;  excuse  me  that  my  words  implied  ii»,"  said  Mr. 
May,  repenting  of  his  suspicion  ;  "  but  it  is  no  less  true  that 
it  will  injure  the  reputation  of  your  hotel  abroad,  if  it  is 
known  that  there  can  be  no  liberty  of  discussion,  no  freedom 
of  action,  within  its  walls." 

At  this  -jment  there  were  voices  heard  in  the  hall  below, 
and  hea  vy  footsteps  upon  the  stairs,  and  some  one  called  loud- 
ly for  Mr.  Armitage.  He  turned  pale,  and  went  out,  closing 
the  door  carefully  behind  him. 

Mr.  May  passed  his  arm  fondly  around  Ida's  waist,  and, 
seeing  how  much  shc  was  distressed  and  agitated,  he  said, 
cheerfully, 

"  Don't  be  frightened.  This  will  probably  amount  to  noth- 
ing more  than  an  order  from  the  'vigilance  committee,'  request- 
37=* 


436  IDA     MAT. 

ing  us  to  leave  town  j  and  though  it  is  certainly  annoying  to 
be  thus  suspected  and  insulted,  it  is  nothing  that  perils  life  or 
limb.  Go  and  put  your  affairs  in  readiness  to  leave  this 
afternoon,  my  child,  for  I  must  send  you  out  of  the  way 
before  they  have  a  chance  to  inflict  even  that  slight  penalty. 
A  very  secure  state  of  society  it  must  be  that  is  jeopard- 
ized by  anything  we  have  done !  But  these  people  know 
they  walk  over  a  quicksand  that  may  at  any  moment  swallow 
them  up  !  Go,  my  dear,  you  have  no  time  to  lose." 

"  I  cannot  go  and  leave  you,  father,"  said  Ida,  earnestly. 
'  Do  not  send  me  away." 

"  But  I  cannot  possibly  leave  in  less  than  a  week,  without 
great  harm  to  our  affairs  at  the  Triangle  ;  and  you  know  Mr. 
Armitage  spoke  of  danger." 

"  Let  m«  remain  and  share  it,  then,"  said  Ida.  "  I  should 
die  a  thousand  deaths  in  fearing  one  for  you.  0,  my  father ! 
I  will  not  leave  you  to  brave  alone  the  trouble  you  have  en- 
countered for  my  sake.  I  must  remain.  We  have  done 
nothing  wrong,  and  God  will  protect  our'  innocence.  When 
I  felt  entirely  deserted,  he  gave  you  back  to  me,  and  I  cannot 
think  we  shall  be  given  over  to  the  malice  of  bad  men.  Let 
-tay  with  you ;  I  am  not  afraid." 

"  But  there  is  really  more  danger  than  you  think.  I  could 
defend  myself  from  harm,  but  I  should  be  powerless  to  shield 
you  from  seeing  and  hearing  what  would  insult  and  alarm 
you ! " 

"  Every  word  you  speak  only  makes  me  more  urgent  tc 
stay  '  said  Ida,  growing  more  self-possessed  as  she  became 


I  D  4     MAY.  437 

accustomed  to  the  thought  of  danger.  "  If  you  think  ii 
necessary  to  remain,  I  should  suffer  far  less  to  be  here  with 
you  than  to  oe  dreading  all  sorts  of  evils,  not  one  of  which 
may  really  happen.  And,  in  case  of  the  worst,  even  if  a  mob 
should  collect,  I  think  the  fact  of  my  presence  would  be  a 
safeguard  instead  of  a  hinderance  to  your  safety.  I  would 
go  with  you  everywhere,  and  they  surely  would  not  attack  a 
woman." 

Mr.  May  looked  with  admiration  and  love  at  the  slight, 
girlish  figure  that  was  animated  by  so  brave  a  spirit,  and, 
smiling  at  the  idea  of  his  manly  strength  being  so  protected, 
was  about  to  reply,  when  suddenly  Mr.  Armitage  returned, 
and,  without  waiting  for  his  modest  knock  to  be  answered, 
entered  and  locked  the  door  behind  him. 

He  was  evidently  much  alarmed  and  agitated,  and  coming 
close  to  Mr.  May  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  The  danger  I  feared  has  come  sooner  than  T  expected. 
The  sheriff  is  in  the  halt  with  a  warrant  to  arrest  you.  There 
will  be  no  time  for  you  to  escape,  but  I  can  'secrete  Miss 
May  where  she  will  be  safe.  There  is  quite  a  mob  collected 
about  the  market.  I  assure  you  there  is  cause  for  alarm." 

"  Go,  my  child,  go  immediately,"  exclaimed  Mr.  May, 
kindly,  but  firmly. 

Ida  was  very  pale,  ami  her  lips  trembled,  but  she  an- 
swered with  quiet  determination, 

"  I  cannot  go.  I  shall  not  be  any  emoarrassment  to  you, 
father.  I  can  control  my  fears ;  and  I  do  believe  you  will 
\>e  less  likely  to  receive  injury  if  I  am  with  you." 


438  IDA     MAT. 

'  Perhaps  it  will  be  so,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Armitage,  "  and, 
on  second  thoughts,  I  think  it  might  be  better  to  take  her  on 
that  account." 

"  I  cannot  think  of  incurring  any  such  risk,"  said  Mr. 
May,  hurriedly.  "  Take  her  immediately  to  a  place  of 
safety." 

He  strove  to  unclasp  her  hands  from  his  arm  as  he  spolie  ; 
but  further  argument  was  rendered  useless  by  the  impatience 
of  the  sheriff  and  his  posse,  who  had  been  waiting  outside 
the  door,  and  now,  growing  suspicious  that  some  attempt  at 
escape  was  being  made,  struck  it  with  their  heavy  canes  so 
violently  that  the  slight  lock  which  held  it  gave  way  at  the 
first  shock,  and  they  entered  the  room. 

The  sheriff  was  none  other  than  our  old  acquaintance, 
Nick  Kelly,  who,  having  retired  from  his  former  active  busi- 
ness, had  settled  in  this  neighborhood,  and,  investing  his  gains 
in  buying  a  profitable  plantation,  had  become  quite  an  influ- 
ential member  of  the  community.  Little  thought  he  that 
the  young  lady  who  stood  so  quietly  to  hear  him  arrest  her 
and  her  father  for  seditious  language  and  disorderly  conduct 
in  relation  to  the  negroes,  was  the  same  who,  when  a  child, 
had  barely  escaped  with  life  from  the  effects  of  his  villany. 

"  You  see  there  is  no  further  question  about  my  goif  g 
with  you,"  Ida  said,  looking  up  aimost  gayly  into  her  father'? 
face,  when  the  warrant  had  been  read. 

"  I  see,"  echoed  her  father,  with  a  sigh  of  anxiety 

"  Come  on,  then,"  said  the  sheriff,  roughly.  "  We  ?ve 
waited  long  enough  now." 


IDA     MAY.  489 

"  You  must  have  a  carriage,"  said  Mr.  Arrnitage,  ''•  and  I 
will  go  with  you.  If  you  could  send  for  some  other  friend 
it  would  be  well." 

"  We  have  no  friend  here  except  Mr.  Varian,"  replied 
Mr.  Ma,v. 

"  Mr.  Wynn  is  a  man  of  great  influence,"  suggested  Mr. 
Armitage. 

"  I  will  not  call  upon  Mr.  Wynn,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"  Come  on  —  here  is  a  carriage  you  can  have,"  said  the 
sheriff,  who  had  been  looking  out  of  the  window. 

They  descended  the  stairs.  The  hall  was  full  of  men,  who 
gazed  at  them  so  rudely  that  Ida  trembled  and  clung  to  her 
father's  arm,  and  it  was  with  a  heartfelt  exclamation  of  joy 
that,  just  as  she  entered  the  carriage,  she  saw  Walter  Varian 
riding  furiously  towards  them. 

Reining  his  horse  by  the  carriage  window,  he  exclaimed, 

"  What  is  all  this  about  ?  There  is  a  crowd  around  the 
market-house,  and  I  heard  your  names  coupled  with  every 
variety  of  epithets." 

A  few  words  sufficed  to  tell  him  all,  and,  giving  hia  horse 
into  the  care  of  his  servant,  who  followed  him,  he  got  into 
the  carriage,  and  drove  with  them  up  to  the  office  where 
their  trial  was  to  be  held.  It  was  surrounded  with  men, 
many  of  them  armed  with  clubs,  and  some  carrying  knives 
and  pistols.  As  they  drew  near,  many  of  these  came  around 
the  sides  of  the  carriage,  catching  hold  by  the  curtains,  and 
trying  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Ida's  face,  which  was  closely 
veiled  and  shouting  and  bandying  rude  jokes  with  those  who 


44  0  1  D  A     M  A  Y  . 

had  (allowed  then  from  the  house.  When  they  entered  th« 
>;ourt-room,  they  found  that  also  crowded,  and  it  was  not 
without  being  pressed  against  and  pushed  about  in  the  most 
insulting  manner,  that  they  made  their  way  to  the  place  re- 
served for  them,  as  criminals  before  the  bar  of  justice. 

Some  of  these  men  belonged  to  the  middle  classes  of 
society,  possessing  moderate  wealth,  arid  calling  themselves 
i(  respectable  ;  "  but  the  majority  were  of  that  order  of  the 
genus  homo,  found  nowhere  but  in  the  slave  States,  and  im- 
possible under  any  other  combination  of  society.  These  are  the 
poor  whites,  who  have  received  distinctive  soubriquets  in  most 
of  the  States,  and  are  called  "  clay-eaters  "  in  Carolina.  Clad 
in  the  coarsest  and  scantiest  garments,  subsisting  principally 
upon  "  turpentine  whiskey,"  and  appeasing  their  craving  for 
more  substantial  food  by  filling  their  stomachs  with  a  kind  of 
aluminous  earth  which  abounds  everywhere,  they  are  squalid 
and  emaciated  to  a  frightful  degree ;  with  yellowish,  drab- 
colored  complexions,  eyes  that  are  dull  and  cold  as  the  eyes 
of  a  dead  fish,  and  faces,  whose  idiotic  expression  is  only 
varied  by  a  dull  despair,  or  a  devilish  malignity.  Living  in 
rude  log  houses,  and  gaining  their  miserable  livelihood  one 
hardly  knows  how,  they  are  found  scattered  through  the 
green  woods  and  the  pleasant  valleys,  or  clustered  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  larger  towns.  They  are  as  destitute  of  any  idea 
of  religion  or  morality  as  the  swine  that  feed  around  their 
doors,  and  are  looked  down  upon  by  the  negroes  vith  a  con- 
tempt winch  they  return  by  a  hearty  hatred. 

These  wretched  beings,  crushed  and  degraded  to  the  last 


IDA     MAY.  4-iJ 

extreme  of  poverty  ai.d  ignorance  by  the  operation  of  slavery, 
that  cuts  them  off  from  all  the  labor  to  which  their  capaci- 
ties are  suited,  are  nevertheless  among  its  warmest  sup- 
porters. They  have  not  sufficient  mental  rigor  to  originate 
any  but  the  most  petty  schemes  of  vice,  but,  when  abler 
heads  require  tools  to  work  with,  these  men  are  ready  to  be 
led  to  any  length  of  cruelty  and  wickedness.  For  two  or 
three  weeks  there  had  been  persons  going  round  among  this 
class,  hinting  that  on  a  certain  day  the  town  folks  were  going 
to  have  some  sport  with  an  abolitionist  who  had  been  troub- 
ling them,  and  they  had  come  from  all  directions,  armed  with 
their  rude  weapons,  and  gloating  over  the  prospect  of  tarring 
and  feathering,  and  riding  on  a  rail,  the  stranger  who  had 
presumed  to  meddle  with  the  niggers. 

These  threats,  which  met  their  ears  on  every  side,  convinced 
Walter  and  Mr.  Armitage  that  the  forms  of  law  would  proba- 
bly yield  to  a  more  swift  and  deadly  danger,  and  that,  if  the 
victims  were  to  be  saved,  help  must  come  soon. 

An  hour  afterwards,  Mr.  Wynn,  sitting  quietly  in  his 
study,  received  the  following  note,  written  hastily  in  pencil : 

"  DEAR  SIR,  —  Pray  come  to  Squire  Oliver's  office  the 
moment  you  receive  this.  Mr.  May  and  his  daughter  have 
been  arrested  on  the  most  unfounded  and  puerile  charges, 
and  are  now  here  in  the  hands  of  the  officers ;  but  there  has 
a  large  mob  collected,  and  great  excitement  prevails,  and  1 
fear  we  shall  not  be  able  to  save  them  from  personal  violence. 
Come  instantly,  I  entreat  you,  for  your  influence  is  greater 


442  IDA     M  A  5  . 

than  any  other  person's  in  this  case,  since  1  believe  the  fact 
of  Miss  May's  expulsion  from  your  house  was  the  first  thing 
that  cast  suspicion  upon  her,  as  very  exaggerated  rumors 
have  been  spread  concerning  the  cause  of  her  leaving  you. 
Life  or  death  depends  upon  your  compliance  with  my  request 
ji)o  not  hesitate,  I  beg.  Your  Nephew, 

VARIAN  " 


Walter  had  written  this  note  in  the  greatest  anxiety  and 
doubt,  but  Mr.  Wynn  did  not  hesitate  a  moment.  Much  as 
he  hated  anti-slavery  ideas,  he  had  too  much  sense  not  to  see 
the  danger  of  countenancing  mob  violence.  He  would  have 
left  the  law  to  take  its  course,  but  his  very  pride  and  aris- 
tocracy of  feeling  revolted  from  the  lawless  proceedings  of 
the  canaille.  Much  as  he  had  come  to  dislike  Ida,  and  her 
father  for  her  sake,  he  would  not  have  them  treated  unfairly 
by  others  on  account  of  his  quarrel  with  them  ;  and,  though 
he  would  never  have  forgiven  her  till  the  day  of  his  death, 
he  was  too  honorable  not  to  wish  to  defend  her  from  any 
false  allegations  brought  against  her  in  consequence  of  the 
withdrawal  of  his  protection. 

Therefore,  in  an  incredibly  short  time,  the  anxious  party, 
that  scarcely  hoped  for  his  aid,  saw  him  coming  in  at  the  door 
with  two  other  gentlemen,  whom  Mr.  Armitage  had  sent  for, 
and  who  arrived  on  the  spot  at  the  same  time.  They  were 
not  a  moment  too  early.  The  room  was  densely  crowded 
with  fierce,  angry  faces,  that  glared  with  wolfish  eyes  on  Mr. 
May  and  Ida;  missiles  had  been  thrown  and  weapons  bran- 


IDA     MAY.  443 

dished,  a,  hoarse  murmur  of  insulting  epithets  filled  the  ail 
and  coarse,  hard  hands  had  been  stretched  out  to  clutch  the 
victims.  It  was  only  because  Walter  and  Mr.  Armitage  had 
used  threats  in  their  turn,  and  finally,  throwing  themselves 
before  those  they  protected,  had  declared  they  should  bs>' 
reached  only  over  their  dead  bodies,  that  the  mob  had  been 
BO  long  kept  at  bay. 

The  presence  of  the  new  comers,  and  their  stern,  angry 
denunciations  of  these  violent  proceedings,  changed  the  aspect 
of  affairs*.  It  was  hard  to  quell  the  appetite  of  the  rabble, 
whetted  for  deeds  of  cruelty ;  but  the  movers  of  these  fierce 
elements,  awed  by  this  unexpected  reinforcement  of  the  oppo- 
site party,  began  to  soothe  instead  of  exciting,  and,  after 
some  delay  and  difficulty,  the  legal  process,  which  had  been 
interrupted  by  the  mob,  was  again  renewed. 

During  all  this  time  of  peril  and  alarm,  Ida  had  stood 
leaning  against  her  father.  Her  face,  h'er  very  lips,  were 
deathly  pale,  but  she  controlled  with  a  strong  will  all  other , 
manifestation  of  fear,  and  remained  calm  and  quiet  amid  the 
tumultuous  noises  and  the  brutal,  wicked  faces  that  sur- 
rounded her.  Walter,  who  was  almost  desperate  with  fear 
for  her  safety,  and  who  remembered  how  often  he  had  seen 
her  tremble  and  grow  faint  when  there  was  less  occasion, 
beheld  her  with  amazement.  He  did  not  know  how  her  soul 
had  grown  strong  in  the  discipline  of  the  last  few  months, 
and  how,  amid  this  turmoil  of  evil  men,  her  faith  stayed 
itse!f  upon  the  mighty  power  of  Him  who  restraineth  the 

wrath  of  the  wicked,  when  it  has  accomplished  bis  will. 
38 


444  IDA     MAT. 

Mr.  May,  \vhen  he  found  there  was  any  prospect  of 
obtaining  justice,  insisted  upon  a  postponement  of  the  trial 
until  he  could  prepare  for  it  a  little,  and  obtain  counsel  and 
witnesses. 

The  justice  demurred  at  this,  and  the  request  renewed  for 
a  while  the  rage  and  clamor  of  the  mob  ;  but  Mr.  Wynn  and 
his  friends  insisted  that  it  should  be  granted,  and,  after  some 
hours  of  contention,  the  obstinacy  of  the  magistrate  gave  way. 
The  crowd  were  appeased  by  five  thousand  dollars'  bonds  being 
given  that  the  prisoners  should  appear  the  nest  mornihg,  and 
the  law  should  be  allowed  to  take  its  course,  and  thus  th«» 
trial  was  postponed. 

Still  there  was  great  danger  that,  in  leaving  the  room,  a 
rush  of  lawless  men  would  seize  their  prey  in  spite  of  all  pre- 
caution ;  and,  after  waiting  in  vain  for  them  to  disperse,  Mr. 
Armitage  left  his  friends,  by  whom  he  had  stood  nobly  until 
now,  and,  mingling  with  the  "  clay-eaters,"  appealed  cunningly 
to  a  propensity  stronger  than  even  their  hatred  of  abolition- 
istS;  and  succeeded  in  drawing  them  across  the  street  to  a 
neighboring  whiskey-shop,  where  he  let  it  be  known  that  he 
would  "  stand  treat "  to  an  unlimited  extent,  and  soon  the 
offer  was  accepted  by  nearly  the  whole  multitude. 

The  way  was  now  cleared  for  an  escape,  and,  quickly  as 
possible,  Ida  and  her  father  were  seated  in  the  carriage,  the 
others  surrounding  them  on  horseback.  The  first  intention 
had  been  to  take  them  to  Oaklands ;  but  some  of  the  "respec- 
iable  "  heads  of  the  mob  had  lingered  around  the  door,  which 
RT%S  hidden  from  view  of  those  in  and  about  the  whiskey-shop 


IDA     MAY.  44b 

by  the  market-house,  that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  broad, 
sandy  street,  and  these  men,  when  they  saw  the  horses'  heada 
turned  from  the  hotel,  raised  such  a  shout  that  the  project 
was  given  up,  lest  opposition  should  lead  to  dangerous  results, 
and  they  all  proceeded  quietly  and  quickly  to  the  hotel  from 
whence  they  had  come. 

Once  more  safe  in  their  little  parlor,  Ida  and  her  father 
could  no  longer  refrain  from  expressing  their  warm  thanks  to 
Mr.  Wynn  for  the  assistance  he  had  rendered.  Everything 
in  the  past  was  blotted  from  their  memory,  for  the  time,  by 
this  one  act ;  and,  as  a  man  always  feels  somewhat  kindly 
towards  those  to  whom  he  has  rendered  a  great  benefit,  he 
replied  to  them  more  graciously  than  Ida  had  dared  to  hope, 
and  she  was  even  thankful  for  the  trial  that  had  apparently 
again  established  friendliness  between  herself  and  the  family 
to  whom  she  felt  bound  by  many  an  early  debt  of  gratitude. 

Mr.  "Wynn,  and  the  other  gentlemen,  also,  had  been  im- 
pressed with  great  admiration  for  the  calmness  and  courage 
which  Ida  had  manifested,  and  all  now  felt  interested  in  ex- 
tricating them  entirely  from  the  impending  danger. 

"  You  must  get  far  away  from  here  before  morning,"  said 
Mr.  Wynn.  "  It  will  be  foolhardiness  to  remain,  with  this 
excited  state  of  the  community.  We  could  control  them  to- 
day, but  our  influence  will  grow  to  be  an  old  story  by  to-mor- 
row, and  these  brutal  creatures  may  destroy  everything  by  a 
eudden  rush." 

The  other  gentlemen  accorded  with  this  view,  and  Mr.  May 
saw  that  it  was,  indeed,  the  wisest  course. 


446  IDA     MAY. 

"  1  must  forfeit  my  bonds,  then,  and  take  '  French  leave,'  " 
said  Mr.  May,  smiling.  "  It  does  not  sound  very  well,  truly 
but  you  will  speedily  find  that  my  bondsmen  will  not  suffer 
or  any  one  else  who  has  befriended  me,  if  money  can  help  it 
It  is  not  seemly  to  make  a  boast  of  wealth,  but  I  am  a  stran- 
ger here  and  that  must  be  my  apology." 

"  Wealth  is  generally  supposed  to  be  its  own  apology,"  said 
one  of  the  gentlemen,  in  reply.  "  The  only  question  now  is 
about  the  means  of  getting  away.  You  must  have  a  carriage, 
and  there  are  none  in  the  stable  here  sufficiently  easy  for 
Miss  May  to  ride  comfortably  all  night,  and  she  already  looks 
very  much  fatigued.  If  you  will  send  a  servant,  my  place 
is  only  four  miles  from  here,  and  my  carriage  is  at  your  dis- 
posal." 

This  offer  was  accepted,  with  many  thanks,  and,  as  it  was 
now  nearly  sunset,  no  time  was  lost  in  sending  a  servant. 
Meantime,  Ida  withdrew  to  rest  a  little,  while  Venus,  who 
had  been  waiting  at  the  door,  in  an  agony  of  impatience  to 
see  her,  should  pack  the  few  articles  it  was  necessary  to  take 
with  them. 

Elsie's  little  boy  was  asleep  on  the  bed,  and,  as  Ida  threw 
herself  down  beside  him,  she  was  thankful  that  Maum  Auby 
had  not  delayed  bringing  him  to  her  until  this  sudden  change 
in  her  fortunes  rendered  it  impossible.  She  lay  quite  stii. 
for  some  time,  thinking  how  abrupt  had  been  the  variations  in 
her  course  of  life,  and  how  deliverance  had  always  come  to 
her  in  her  troubles,  from  the  quarter  whence  she  least  ex- 
pected it,  and,  striving  to  put  away  from  her  the  recollections 


IDA     MAY.  44? 

that  would  persist  in  intruding  themselves,  of  Walter's  looks 
and  words  the  evening  previous,  and  of  the  exertions  he  had 
made  for  her  safety  that  day ;  and,  especially,  of  one  occa- 
sion, when,  believing  the  mob  about  to  rush  upon  them,  he 
had  whispered  to  her,  with  a  thrilling  intensity  of  expression, 
that  even  then  brought  the  color  to  her  cheeks, 

"  Cling  to  me,  Ida,  cling  to  me  !  They  shall  kill  me  before 
harm  comes  to  you." 

In  the  mean  time,  Venus  was  accompanying  her  packing 
with  a  running  commentary  of  words ;  and,  rousing  herself  at 
length  from  her  dreamy  revery  to  listen  to  what  she  was  saying, 
Ida  found  that  she  was  packing  her  own  clothes,  also. 

"  Stop  Venus,"  she  said,  "  you  needn't  pack  that.'" 

"  'T  a'n't  no  'count,  I  know,  miss,"  said  she  ;  "  but  'pears 
uke  we  'd  make  it  do,  make  somcthin'  fur  de  little  feller.  O, 
miss,  he  de  mos'  blessedest  chile —  dat  ar' !  " 

"  But  you  are  not  to  go  now,  Venus !  did  n't  you  under- 
stand me  ?  You  are  to  stay  and  take  care  of  the  child  till 
we  make  some  farther  arrangement." 

"  I  a'n't  gwine  stay  take  care  o'  no  child ! "  exclaimed 
Venus.  "  Pretty  well,  too,  you  go  off  'out  no  Benus  take 
care  of  ye  !  Who  say  I  be  gwine  stay  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  room  in  the  carriage,  mauma,"  said  Ida,  "  so 
you  see  you  can't  go.  I  'm  sorry,  but  you  are  safe  enough 
here." 

"  /  a'n't  scare  !  "  exclaimed  she,  contemptuously ;  "  but  1 
.•an't  persent  to  your  gwine,  honey,  'thout  you  takes  me  'long. 
I  'se  allers  notice  you  gets  into  strouble  de  minute  I  a'n't  bjf 


448  IDA     MAY. 

to  take  ?are  of  ye.  Dere  's  room  fur  four  in  de  carriage;  a'n  t 
de  « 

"  Yes ;  but  father  and  I,  and  Mass'  Walter  and  the  driver, 
will  occupy  it,  you  see." 

•"  0,  Mass'  Walter  gwine  !  am  he  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
sudden  exhibition  of  her  universal  giggle,  winking  and  blink- 
ing at  Ida  "in  a  manner  that  was  infinitely  amusing.  "  I 
wonders  what  Miss  Mabel  say  when  she  know  dat  ?  Reckon 
she  lif '  up  de  eyelids,  so.  Mass'  Walter  !  ki !  dat  good ! 
Mass'  Walter!  I'se  knowcd  somethin'  ever  sense  dat  ar' 
night  de  Lord  sent  de  father  back  'gin.  7  knows  !  " 

"  There  he  is,  now !  "  exclaimed  Ida,  springing  from  the 
bed,  as  she  heard  a  quick  step  on  the  stairs ;  and,  in  another 
moment,  without  waiting  even  for  the  ceremony  of  knocking, 
Walter  threw  open  the  door. 

"  Come  instantly  !  "  he  cried,  seizing  her  hand.  "  The 
mob  are  upon  us  again,  in  a  drunken  fury !  Come,  don't 
wait  for  anything  !  "  . 

He  threw  on  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and,  thoughtful  of  her 
comfort  even  then,  flung  over  his  shoulder  her  cloak,  that  lay 
on  the  chair,  lest  she  might  need  protection  from  the  cool 
night  air. 

"  Is  the  carriage  ready  ?  "  she  asked,  as  they  ran  down 
stairs 

"  No,  it  Las  not  yet  arrived,  and  the  minute  we  caught 
S'ght  of  the  mob,  Mr.  Warner  set  off  on  horseback,  to  inter- 
cept it.  They  will  go  to  another  street,  where  we  Trill  meet 
them." 


IDA     MAY.  449 

"  And  my  father  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  They  hurried  him  off  into  the  woods,  and  he  waits  for  us 
there,"  said  Walter,  opening  a  side  door  in  an  angle  of  the 
house,  that  sheltered  them  from  view  of  the  street,  down  which 
the  rabble  were  now  tramping,  uniting  their  voices  in  shout- 
ing a  drunken  song,  the  chorus  of  which,  at  that  moment, 
came  to  them  on  the  wind. 

"  Git  out  o'  the  way  you  d — d  old  Yankee  ! 
We  '11  burn  the  abolitionists." 

Keeping  the  house  between  them  and  their  pursuers,  they 
ran  down  the  hill  and  gained  the  shelter  of  a  thick  grove, 
which  commenced  not  many  rods  from  the  house,  and  ex- 
tended back  till  it  was  merged  in  an  extensive  pine  forest. 
It  was  now  nearly  dark,  and,  once  among  the  trees,  they 
were  concealed  from  view. 

As  he  hurried  her  along,  Ida  stopped  suddenly,  and,  look- 
ing up  earnestly  in  his  face,  she  said, 

"  You  have  not  been  deceiving  me,  Walter  ?  My  father 
tried  to  send  me  away  from  him  once.  I  fear  he  has  done  so 
now.  Has  he  really  left  the  house  ?  Why  did  he  not  wait 
for  me  ? " 

"  He  is  really  waiting  for  us  somewhere  here.  I  sent  my 
seivunt  with  him,  because  it  would  not  answer  for  any  of  the 
others  to  be  absent  when  the  mob  arrive.  They  must  be 
there  to  hold  the  rascals  at  bay,  while  we  have  a  chance  to 
escape." 

"  But  why  did  he  not  wait  for  me  ? " 


450  IDA     MAY. 

"We  wouldn't  let  him.  He  was  on  the  piazza,  and  we 
forced  him  to  go,  for  his  danger  was  more  imminent  than 
yours,  if  he  were  seen,  and  every  instant  increased  it.  I  told 
him  I  would  bring  you  safely.  You  are  not  afraid  to  trust, 
me,  Ida  ? "  he  added,  reproachfully. 

"  0,  no  !  "  she  cried,  and  a  strange  thrill  of  mingled  pleas 
ure  and  pain  shot  through  her  heart,  as  she  realized  how 
entirely  she  trusted  him,  —  how  fast  he  was  becoming  dearer 
to  her  than  aught  beside  on  earth,  and  how,  through  all  the 
peril  and  terror  of  that  eventful  day,  there  had  been  inwoven 
a  consciousness  of  exquisite  delight  whenever  she  bad  felt 
the  pressure  of  his  hand,  or  met  the  glance  of  his  eyes. 

They  passed  swiftly  on,  too  swiftly  for  further  conversa- 
tion, and  soon  the  shouting  of  the  mob  became  a  low  murmur, 
and  they  reached  the  distant  spot  where  they  found  Mr. 
May  and  Walter's  servant  awaiting  them.  With  inexpress- 
ible thankfulness,  Ida  was  pressed  to  her  father's  heart.  He 
had  endured  an  agony  of  anxiety  for  her  fate,  and  self-re- 
proach at  leaving  her,  during  the  short  interval  that  had 
elapsed  since  they  left  the  house,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
turning  back  to  seek  her,  when  he  saw  her  approaching. 

In  a  short  time  the  carriage  drove  up,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Warner,  on  horseback ;  and,  having  seen  them  safely 
placed  in  it,  the  kind  gentleman  shook  hands  with  Ida  and 
her  father. 

"  I  cannot  ask  you  to  visit  me,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  for  I 
Ruppose  our  rampant  democracy  would  make  that  hardly  a 
friendly  invitation ;  but,  if  ever  I  go  where  you  ore,  I  shall 


IDA     MAT.  401 

certainly   improve   the   opportunity  to   become   further   ac 
quainted  with  this  brave  young  lady." 

Assuring  him  of  the  pleasure  it  wtuld  give  them  to  see 
him,  and  with  many  thanks  and  expressions  of  mutual  regret, 
ihey  parted,  and  Walter's  servant,  gathering  up  the  reins, 
drove  them  rapidly  away  from  tke  scene  of  their  danger. 

Few  words  were  spoken  during  that  long-remembered  night, 
for  Walter  was  plunged  in  a  chaos  of  troubled  thought,  and 
Mr.  May  was  busy  in  arranging  his  plans  for  the  future. 
Ida  was  completely  worn  out  with  fatigue  and  excitement, 
and,  wrapped  in  her  warm  coverings,  as  soon  as  she  knew 
they  were  fairly  out  of  danger,  sank  to  sleep  .with  her  head 
resting  upon  her  father's  breast. 

Thoroughly  weary  were  they  all,  when,  the  next  morning, 
just  as  day  was  breaking,  the  carriage  rattled  over  the  bridge 
tliat  spans  the  turbid  Savannah,  and  they  entered  the  pretty 
little  city  of  Augusta. 

The  first  thing  they  sought  was  rest,  and  it  was  not  until 
they  met  at  dinner,  that  Walter  saw  how  pale  and  worn  Ida 
looked,  and  how  nervously  she  started  at  any  sudden  noise. 

"  You  bore  up  bravely  while  the  danger  lasted,  but,  now 
it  is  past,  I  see  you  are  suffering  from  the  shock  and  the 
strain  upon  your  nervous  system.  Your  body  is  not  strong 
enough  for  your*  soul,  Ida,"  said  Walter  to  her,  as  they  sat 
by  the  window,  after  dinner,  looking  out  upon  the  busy 
throng  that  were  hurrying  along  Broad  street. 

"  True,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "  I  feel  to-day  like  saying. 
'my  little  body  is  aweary  of  this  great  world.'  It  will  be  a 


452  IDA     MAT. 

long  whilej  1  think,  before  I  shall  cease  having  a  palpitation, 
at  any  unexpected  sound,  but  I  hope  to  be  able  to  avoid  dis- 
turbing others  with  my  panic.  It  amuses  me  though,  in  spit* 
of  my  annoyance,  when  I  think  that  poor  little  insignificant 
I  have  been  the  cause  of  so  much  commotion." 

"  It  was  something  like  taking  a  club  to  crush  a  mosquito. 
The  mosquito  has  flown  away,  and  may  sting  again !  Hey, 
Ida?" 

"  No,  no,"  she  replied,  laughing ;  "  impute  to  me  no  such 
revengeful  design.  I  shall  '  set  down  naught  in  malice,'  and  .1 
am  quite  satisfied  with  the  mischief  I  was  compelled  indirectly 
to  do.  I  suppose  1  did  give  some  of  those  poor  creatures  an 
idea  of  a  different  order  of  things  from  that  under  which  they 
live,  although  I  tried  not  to.  But  they  are  quick  to  detect 
the  sympathy  of  a  tone  or  an  expression,  and  I  don't  wonder 
their  masters  are  alarmed  at  the  presence  of  a  person  of 
different  sentiments.  If  I  had  treated  anybody  as  most  of 
the  negroes  are  treated,  I  should  be  as  sensitive  to  slight  dis- 
turbances as  the  Carolinians  are.  Eeally,  I  don't  blame  them 
for  not  liking  to  have  persons  with  anti-slavery  ideas  living 
among  them." 

"  I  blame  them,  however,  for  stirring  up  a  mob  to  get  nd 
of  such  obnoxious  individuals,"  said  Walter,  indignantly; 
"  and  I  blush  when  I  think  that,  in  my  native  Sta*e,  all  laws 
Df  hospitality  and  of  justice  as  well  as  decency,  must  be  sacri- 
ficed to  this  Moloch,  who  is  sc  devoutly  worshipped.  I  only 
Dope  that  some  daj  we  may  serve  a  less  infernal  deity.  One 


IDA     MAY  5> 

would  think  that  au  institution  which  was  so  easily  shaker 
might  at  length  be  overturned." 

"  Alas,  no  ! "  said  Ida.  "  I  fear  it  is  like  those  huge  stone* 
found  among  the  mountains,  so  poised  that  an  infant's  hand  can 
rock  them,  but  a  giant's  force  is  insufficient  to  hurl  them  from 
their  resting-places.  Humanly  speaking,  it  seems  impossible 
that  slavery  should  cease,  except  by  a  convulsion  disastrous 
and  fearful  as  the  earthquake,  which  alone  can  overthrow 
these  vast  boulders." 

"  Do  not  speak  so  hopelessly.  There  is  One  whose  powei 
controls  the  earthquake,  and  the  designs  of  his  providence- 
will  be  worked  out  in  spite  of  all  human  wrong-doing ;  yes, 
perhaps  even  by  means  of  that  which  seems  most  adverse  to 
all  good.  We  see  it  is  so,  sometimes,  in  little  things,  and  our 
faith  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  right  should  not  waver, 
because  the  weakness  of  our  mortal  vision  cannot  reach 
through  the  vast  spaces  of  time,  which,  to  the  Lord,  are  but 
as  a  day." 

It  was  Mr.  May  who  said  this.  '..Tiey  did  not  notice  hia 
approach  until  he  spoke,  and  then  the  solemnity  of  his  manner 
prevented  any  reply.  Ha  felt  deeply,  and  he  spoke  earnestly 
for,  from  the  long  discipline  of  his  life,  he  had  learned  implicit 
trust  in  God. 

He  seated  himself  beside  them,  and,  after  a  few  moments 
of  thoughtful  silence,  the  conversation  turned  upon  their 
future  proceedings. 

"We  must  go  north  as  soon  as  possible,  now,"  said  Mr 
"Vlay.  I  was  anxious  to  go  on  with  our  '  primary  school '  at 


454  IDA   MAY. 

the  Triangle,  until  my  agent  had  selected  and  purchased  a 
location  for  our  little  colony,  and  I  could  arrange  our  affairs 
here  without  being  obliged  to  trouble  you.  But,  as  this  has 
not  been  permitted,  -we  must  leave  things  on  the  plantation  to 
take  care  of  themselves,  until  an  opportunity  for  sale  offers ; 
and  you  can  send  all  the  negroes  over  in  the  cars  to  Hamburg. 
You  see,  I  take  it  for  granted,  you  will  still  be  our  good 
genius,  as  you  have  been  so  long." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Walter.  ''  1  am  only  too  happy  to  serve 
you  and  Ida  in  any  way.  I  will  send  them  over  to-morrow. 

"  And  Venus  and  her  little  charge,  —  you  will  not  forget 
them,"  said  Ida  with  a  smile,  and  a  slight  blush,  as  she  met 
the  earnest  expression  of  his  brown  eyes. 

"  I  will  see  that  they  are  made  comfortable,"  he  answered. 
"  You  will  have  quite  a  retinue  to  take  with  you  to  iSavan- 
nah." 

"  Mauni  Venus  will  feel  so  mighty  grand  about  it,"  said 
Ida,  laughing.  "  It  is  a  curious  inconsistency  in  her  nature 
that,  notwithstanding  all  she  has  suffered  from  it,  she  yet 
looks  upon  the  system  of  domestic  servitude  with  a  certain 
pride  and  respect.  I  could  see  that  she  was  even  a  little  un- 
willing to  have  me  carry  out  my  plans  for  the  negroes  at  the 
Triangle.  <  I  s'pose  it  right,  honey,'  said  she,  '  but  it  do  seem 
mighty  like  comin'  down  to  be  one  de  poor  trash  't  a'n't  got  no 
niggers,  —  an'  here  you  'se  got  'nuff  to  keep  you  comforble  all 
de  whole  your  life,  ef  you  dies  in  any  land  o1  decent  season.'  " 

"  It  is  hard  for  any  of  us  to  free  ourselves  from  the  ideas 
in  which  we  were  educated,"  said  Walter.  "  It  is  said  to 


IDA     MAT.  455 

take  nine  tailors  to  make  a  man,'  and  Maum  Venus  evidently 
thinks  it  takes  twice  that  number  of  negroes  to  make  a  gentle- 
man. But  L  must-  not  linger  here,"  he  added,  "  for  I  see 
Tom  is  waiting  at  the  door  with  the  carriage,  and  I  wish  tc 
get  home  before  midnight." 

"  Do  you  go  so  soon  ?  "  exclaimed  Ida,  with  a  sudden  heart- 
pang. 

"  I  must.  It  will  not  answer  for  me  to  remain  longer,"  he 
replied,  with  an  emphasis  and  an  intonation  that  expressed 
more  than  his  words. 

Ida  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  was  silent.  She  could  not 
urge  him  to  remain,*  but  her  very  soul  Deemed  to  grow  faint 
as  she  thought  of  the  long  time  that  might  elapse  before  they 
should  meet  again. 

"  When  shall  we  see  you  again  ?  "  said  Mr.  May. 

"I  don't  Lnow,  —  perhaps  never,"  he  replied,  gloomily. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  on  Ida's  face,  with  that  intensely  earnest 
and  sorrowful  expression,  wherewith  a  man  looks  on  that 
which  he  most  loves  and  longs  for,  at  the  moment  when  he  is 
bidding  it  farewell  forever.  He  had  taken  her  hand  to  bid 
her  adieu,  but  the  word  lingered  on  his  lips,  and  the  little 
hand,  cold  and  tremulous,  lay  passively  in  his.  Never  had 
she  seemed  so  dear,  so  infinitely  precious  to  him  as  now,  — 
never  had  he  so  longed  to  pour  out  his  heart  to  her.  The 
events  of  the  last  two  days  had  bound  him  to  her  with  strong, 
entangling  cords,  and  to  leave  her  thus,  knowing  that  he 
should  not,  that  he  must  not  sec  her  again,  seemed  like  tear- 
ing asunder  the  springs  of  life. 
39 


456  IDA     MAY. 

"  Good-by  !  "  he  said,  at  length,  dropping  her  hand  with  a 
stifled  sigh. 

"  Good-by !  "  she  answered,  raising  her  sad  eyes  one  instant 
to  his. 

This  was  all.  He  left  the  room,  and  Mr.  May  went  out 
with  him.  It  was  no  time  for  the  manifestation  of  sentiment. 
They  were  in  the  parlor  of  a  crowded  hotel,  and  the  groups 
who  were  passing  around  them  must  know  nothing  of  this 
bitter  struggle, — must  not  hear  the  groan  of  mute  despair  with 
which  these  two  souls  were  sundered  —  must  not  read  on  the 
face  of  the  pale  girl,  who  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the  window- 
curtain,  the  keen  sorrow,  the  unhappy  love,  she  was  hiding 
beneath  that  quiet  exterior.  One  lady  noticed  her,  and  said 
to  a  companion, 

"  How  very  pretty  she  would  bt ,  if  ehe  had  only  a  little 
color,  and  had  not  that  expression  of  ennui." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other.  "  I  wonder  who  she  is.  That 
was  her  brother  who  just  went  out,  I  reckon." 

"  Her  lover,  perhaps,"  said  the  first  speaker. 

"  No ;  her  brother.     Lovers  do  not  part  so  calmly." 

It  is  ever  thus.  There  would  be  little  need  to  write 
romances  or  tragedies,  if  every  man  carried  a  "  window  in  his 
bosom." 

"All  the  T7orld  's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players  ;" 

but  fortunately  it  is  seldom  the  audience  bas  a  programme  ol 
*ho  play. 


IDA     SI  AT. 

When  Walter  Varian  arrived  at  the  hotel,  frcin  which  he 
had  taken  such  sudden  flight  the  preceding  evening,  it  was 
past  midnight,  but  he  found  Mr.  Armitage  waiting  to  receive 
mm,  and  it  was  with  no  little  pleasure  that  he  heard  of  the 
safety  of  the  guests,  whom  he  had  defended  so  bravely. 
Walter  was  almost  equally  interested  in  hearing  how  adroitly 
Mr.  Armitage  had  succeeded  in  deceiving  the  leaders  of  the 
mob,  making  them  believe  their  victims  were  secreted  in  his 
house,  and  appealing  to  them  for  mercy,  and  restraining  them 
from  violence  by  threats  of  summary  justice,  if  any  harm  was 
done  (in  which  he  was  supported  by  Mr.  Wynn  and  the  othei 
two  gentlemen),  until,  at  length,  believing  Mr.  May  must 
be  at  a  safe  distance,  they  had  given  way,  and  permitted  the 
house  to  be  searched. 

Of  course,  the  offensive  persons  were  not  found,  and  the 
wrath  of  the  mob  was  loudly  expressed  at  their  disappoint- 
ment, and  might  have  led  to  some  injury  being  inflicted  upon 
the  opposing  party,  only  that  those  who  had  excited  them 
against  Mr.  May,  knew  enough  to  be  sure  that  they  could  not, 
with  equal  safety,  proceed  to  violent  measures  against  one  of 
their  fellow-citizens ;  and,  after  some  trouble  and  ineffectual 
threats  of  vengeance,  the  rabble  was  dispersed,  and  the  gentle- 
men, who  hod,  until  now,  remained  with  Mr.  Armitage, 
thought  it  s:>i'e  to  return  to  their  own  homes. 

The  next  morning,  Walter's  first  care  was  to  go  to  the  Tri- 
angle, where  he  found  the  negroes  wondering  at  their  mistress' 
absence,  and  at  the  strange  rumors  that  had  begun  to  reach 
them  concerning  its  cause.  Without  much  delay  or  trouble. 


100  IDA     MAY. 

—  for  they  .»ad  little  to  carry,  —  they  w<sre  put  in  marching 
order,  and,  having  hired  a  responsible  white  person  to  go 
with  them  to  the  station,  four  miles  distant,  where  they  were 
to  take  the  afternoon  train  of  cars,  "Walter  saw  them  start  on 
their  journey.  He  had  previously  made  arrangements  at  the 
hotel  to  have  Venus  and  the  child,  with  the  luggage,  sent  on 
in  the  same  conveyance,  so  that  he  was  now  at  liberty  to 
attend  to  his  own  affairs. 

The  negroes  marched  silently  away,  with  many  a  lingering 
look  backward  through  the  trees  at  the  place  they  were  leav- 
ing deserted.  Wretched  as  had  been  their  situation  there,  it 
was  yet  their  Jwme,  and,  notwithstanding  the  kindness  they  had 
of  late  experienced,  many  of  them  had  a  secret  suspicion  that 
they  were  to  be  sold,  and  that  even  a  worse  fate  than  they 
had  known  was  in  reserve  for  them.  They  were  timid  and 
easily  depressed,  and  they  had  been  the  victims  of  so  much 
deceit  and  injustice  that  they  dreaded  any  change. 

From  the  Triangle,  Walter  went  directly  to  Wynn  Hal), 
and  to  the  library,  where  he  knew  he  should  find  his  uncle  at 
that  hour.  Having  recounted  his  adventures,  and  talked  over 
the  matter  of  the  riot,  and  again  thanked  Mr.  Wynn  for  the 
very  efficient  aid  he  had  rendered,  he  inquired  for  Mabel  and 
his  aunt. 

"  Mrs.  Wynu  has  gone  out  this  morning  to  see  an  old  triend 
who  is  visiting  in  the  neighborhood,"  was  the  reply,  "and 
Mabel,  I  think,  you  will  find  in  the  parlor.  She  was  there 
when  I  look™1  in  an  hour  ago.  Sr.3  seems  dull  to-day,  and  I 


IDA     MAY.  4t)9 

think  it  maj  be  because  Col.  Ross'  name  has  been  mixed  up 
with  this  affair." 

"  Col.  Ross  '  —  what  had  he  to  do  with  it  ?  "  said  Walter, 
BO  intent  upon  whatever  concerned  Ida  in  the  most  remote 
degree,  that  he  did  not  notice  the  inference  his  uncle  intended 
him  to  make  from  this  conjunction  of  names. 

Mr.  Wynn  saw  this,  and  though  he  thought  it  high  time 
this  game  of  cross-purposes  should  cease,  he  condescended 
to  no  further  effort  at  enlightening  him,  but  replied,  care- 
lessly, 

"  I  don't  know  that  he  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  1 
have  wondered  a  little  who  it  was  that  put  the  ball  in 
motion." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that  myself,"  said  Walter.  "  It  does 
p.eem  as  if  there  must  have  been  some  private  malice  at  the 
beginning,  for  the  sensitiveness  of  the  vigilance  committee  is 
usually  satisfied  with  ordering  all  suspected  persons  out  of 
town,  unless  they  have  done  something  worse  than  Mr.  May 
or  Ida  were  accused  of  doing.  They  do  not  generally  go  to 
the  length  of  exciting  a  mob  for  the  purpose." 

"  You  should  not  speak  sneeringly  of  the  vigilance  coAmrit- 
tee,"  said  Mr.  Wynn,  somewhat  sternly.  "  It  is  a  very  useful 
and  proper  institution,  and  the  gentlemen  who  compose  it 
should  be  supported  in  their  measures.  But  this  rising  of  the 
rabble  is  another  matter.  It  is  easily  enough  effected,  but 
there  must  be  an  exciting  cause." 

"  I  hardly  know  what  the  cause  could  have  been,"  said 
Walter,  thoughtfully.  •  "  Ida  had  the  misfortune  to  offend 
39* 


460  IDA     MAT. 

you,  and  it  becaire  public;  but  you,  of  course,  had  no  hand 
in  it.' 

Mr.  Wynn  replied  coldly,  for  he  was  irritated  by  the  liberty 
Walter  had  taken  in  this  reference,  "Thank  you,  sir;  you 
do  me  the  honor,  then,  to  believe  that  I  am  not  mean  and 
revengeful." 

Walter  smiled,  and  bit  his  lip,  in  a  little  confusion. 
"  Excuse  me,"  he  said ;  "  the  words  escaped  me  uncon- 
sciously —  " 

"No  apology  is  needed.  You  will  find  Mabel  in  the 
parlor,"  interrupted  Mr.  Wynn,  turning  back  to  his  books. 
Walter  saw  that  he  was  to  "  consider  himself  dismissed,"  and 
he  proceeded  at  once  to  the  parlor. 

Mabel  stood  with  her  face  half  turned  towards  the  door. 

* 

She  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of  dark  silk,  with  wide  open  sleeves, 
that  .showed  her  exquisitely  moulded  arms,  white  as  snow. 
Her  soft,  shining  hair  was  braided  with  classic  simplicity 
round  her  queenly  head,  and  some  sprays  of  the  yellow  jas- 
mine were  arranged  with  careless  gracefulness  among  its  folds. 
A  bouquet  of  these  flowers  stood  on  the  mantel-piece,  against 
which  she  was  leaning ;  and,  as  one  of  her  delicate  little  hands 
toyed  with  their  petals,  the  fragrance  shaken  from  the  honeyed 
cups  filled  the  room.  To  the  end  of  his  life,  Walter  never 
inhaled  that  delicious  perfume  without  having  recalled  to  him 
this  memorable  interview. 

She  had  heard  him  go  into  the  library,  and  had  been  await- 
ing him  with  restless  impatience.  When  he  entered  the  parlor 
she  turned  quickly,  and,  without  waiting  for  any  of  the  com- 


I  D  >      MAY.  461 

moa  salutations,  she  said  in  a  sharp,  mockihg  tone,  while  her 
blue  eyes  darkened  with  wrath, 

"  Well,  sir,  so  you  have  carried  your  '  ladie  love'  to  a  place 
of  safety,  at  last.  I  congratulate  you." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  He  thought  she  was  jeal- 
ous of  Ida,  and  replied, 

"  Surely,  you  are  not  angry,  because  I  have  been  saving 
Ida  from  insult  and  danger,  —  perhaps  from  death.  0, 
Mabel ! " 

"  And  given  her  your  heart  as  a  recompense  for  all  she  has 
sacrificed  to  the  cause  of  freedom  !  "  she  added,  mockingly. 

A  sudden  change  passed  over  Walter's  face,  as  he  heard 
this  unexpected  charge,  and,  retreating  a  few  steps,  he  leaned 
against  the  corner  of  the  mantel-piece  opposite  her,  and  shaded 
his  eyes  with  his  hand. 

"  Speak ! "  she  exclaimed,  impatiently,  as  he  made  no 
reply;  "  speak,  —  deny  it  all, — flatter  me  with  smooth  words, 
which  you  long  to  contradict  as  you  utter  them ;  —  go  on 
with  your  hypocrisy  and  your  deceit,  as  you  have  been  going 
on  so  long ;  play  one  more  scene  of  falsehood,  and  make  your- 
self believe  you  are  an  honorable  man  !  It  must  be  easy  for 
you  now,  after  so  much  practice  !  " 

"  Mabel,  cease  ! "  said  Walter,  suddenly,  in  a  low  tone, 
so  firm  and  authoritative,  that  for  a  moment  it  stilled  tho 
tempest  of  her  anger.  He  was  very  palo,  even  to  his  lips, 
which  trembled  a  little,  though  all  the  lines  of  his  face  were 
hushed  and  calm ;  and  his  eyes,  which  no  longer  avoided  hers, 
had  an  expression  of  patience  and  gentleness. 


462  IDA     MA*. 

"  I  have  wronged  jou,"  he  said,  "  and  it  has  cost  me  maay 
bitter  hours ;  but  there  should  be  a  limit  to  your  crimina- 
tions. I  was  dazzled,  fascinated  by  your  wonderful  beauty 
and  grace.  I  thought  I  loved,  —  I  did  love  you,  truly,  fer- 
vently, with  all  the  romance  which  has  not  yet  died  out  of  my 
nature,  with  the  unquestioning  faith  of  a  worshipper  at  the 
shrine  of  his  idol.  When  I  told  you  of  my  hopes  and  you 
did  not  check  them,  I  was  in  a  bewilderment  of  enthusiastic 
delight,  — I  was  in  a  dream.  Do  you  know  what  awakened 
me?" 

"  Ida's  perfections,  I  suppose,"  replied  she,  sarcastically. 

"  You  mistake,  then.  It  was  yourself,  your  own  words 
and  actions.  Pardon  me,  Mabel,  but  the  shock  was  too  rude 
and  sudden  ever  to  be  forgotten,  and  my  blind  eyes  were  too 
surely  enlightened  ever  to  be  wilfully  deceived.  I  saw  that 
we  were  wholly  unsuited  to  each  other,  —  that  I  should  make 
you  miserable,  and  you  could  not  make  me  happy.  Since 
then—" 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  did  not  know  all  this  ?  "  she  said,  inter- 
rupting him ;  "do  you  suppose  I  was  deceived  by  your  empty 
professions,  by  your  hypocrisies  —  " 

"  Hold,  Mabel !  I  have  been  no  hypocrite  !  When  I 
adored  you,  I  told  you  so  in  language  enthusiastic  as  my 
love ;  but  when  my  heart  found  no  home  in  yours,  the  demon- 
strations of  such  love  cea£<jd.  I  loved  you  with  the  old 
brotherly  affection  I  had  felt  for  you  from  infancy,  and  I  felt 
grateful  to  you  that  you  had  responded  to  a  warmer  feeling , 
but  I  often  wondered  you  did  not  notice  my  change  of  man- 


IDA     MAY.  463 

ner.     I  have  been  no  hypocrite       I  earnestly  strove  to  love 

you.     I  was  pledged  to  you,  ana  that  pledge  I  would,  I  will 

i 
redeem." 

"  I  scorn  you,  and  your  pledges  !  "  said  she,  passionately 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  would  share  a  divided  heart  ?  Do  you 
think  your  love  so  necessary  to  mo,  that  I  would  humble  my- 
self so  meanly  ?  No  !  I  would  have  spurned  you  from  me 
long  ago,  only  that  I  had  a  purpose  to  serve,  a  revenge  to 
secure ! " 

"  You  have  secured  it !  "  said  Walter,  gloomily.  "  Be 
lieve  me,  there  is  no  sorrow  keener  than  that  a  man  feels, 
when  he  begins  to  doubt  the  worthiness  of  the  one  he  has 
laved  best." 

The  color  deepened  in  Mabel's  cheek  as  she  heard  this,  and 
she  exclaimed,  with  exasperated  tones, 

"  I  had  a  revenge  more  sure  and  more  lasting  than  that ! 
My  ultimate  purpose  has,  indeed,  been  defeated,  but,  never- 
theless, the  blow  struck  hard ;  and  you  felt  it,  and  she  felt 
it,  though  you  knew  not  the  source  from  whence  it  came." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  exclaimed  Walter,  in  amazement. 

Mabel  did  not  reply  for  a  moment ;  and  the  expression 
of  her  face  changed  from  triumph  to  doubt,  as  if  she  was 
uncertain  what  to  say,  and  again  he  repeated  his  question. 

"  Can  you  not  think  what  ?  "  she  said,  averting  her  eyes 
from  his  face.  "  Has  nothing  happened,  of  late,  that  you 
could  not  wholly  account  for,  —  nothing  that  surprised  and 
\larmed  you  ? " 

"  Nothing  ''  answered  he,  "  except  that  riot  in  town  ;  and 


404  .  I>  A     MAY. 

you,  0,  Mabel !  surely,  you  could  have  had  nothing  to  do 
with  that ! " 

"  Could  n't  I !  "  she  exclaimed,  defiantly,  her  momentary 
hesitation  vanishing.  -"  I  tell  you,  it  was  easy  to  do.  There 
is  a  lever  here,  which  the  weakest  hand  can  seize,  to  move  the 
deadliest  forces.  It  needed  but  a  few  words  dropped  here 
and  there,  in  seeming  carelessness ;  an  insinuation,  now  and 
then,  that  the  plantations  around  the  Triangle  were  hardly 
safe  with  their  new  neighbors ;  an  apparently  reluctant  admis- 
sion, of  what  was  really  the  fact,  that  our  family  discipline 
had  been  meddled  with,  and  obnoxious  sentiments  and  sedi- 
tious words  uttered.  0,  it  was  easy  to  make  the  girl  you 
loved  an  outcast  from  society  !  I  gloried  in  it !  I  laughed 
slyly  to  see  how  the  whole  neighborhood  were  unconsciously 
working  out  my  designs  !  " 

She  laughed  as  she  spoke.  Her  beautiful  lips  were  wreathed 
over  her  pearly  teeth  with  a  cold  malignity,  and  her  head  was 
thrown  back  proudly. 

"  Mabel,  you  are  crazy  !  You  cannot  mean  what  you 
say ' "  exclaimed  Walter,  his  horror  overcoming  even  his 
astonishment  and  his  anger. 

"  I  do  mean  it !  "  she  cried.  "  T  hate  her !  I  hate  you 
both !  I  am  only  sorry  that  my  father's  foolish  ideas  of 
honor  led  him  to  interfere  and  prevent  ail  that  might  have 
happened." 

Walter  made  a  quick  step  forward,  and  seized  both  her 
hands  with  a  grasp  that  almost  crushed  the  delicate  and 
'•swelled  fingers.  She  struggled  to  frge  herself,  but  in  vain. 


IDA     M  A.  Y  .  41)5 

tie  was  unconscious  of  the  force  he  exerted,  and,  holding  her 
firmly,  he  looked  straight  into  her  eyes,  exclaiming,  in  great 
excitement,  • 

"  Tell  me,  did  you  incite  the  movers  of  that  mob  ?  —  did 
you  mean  to  devote  to  insult,  and  pain,  and  death,  that  pure 
and  gentle  girl,  who  was  like  an  angel  of  mercy  in  this  house  ? 
Toll  me !  " 

"  I  did !  "  she  replied,  defiantly.  "  I  tell  you  I  hated  her ! 
Why  should  I  care  what  became  of  her  ?  " 

"  Then  may  God  forgive  you,  for  in  your  heart  you  have 
been  a  murderess  !  " 

He  dropped  her  hands  as  he  said  this,  and,  turning  away 
from  her,  began  walking  across  the  room.  He  was  inexpres- 
sibly shocked  and  surprised.  Like  the  man  in  the  old  stories 
of  enchantment,  who  beheld  his  peerless  bride  transformed 
into  a  hideous  and  disgusting  reptile,  he  shrank  in  dismay 
from  this  blighting  revelation  of  the  worst  passions  of  human 
nature  in  a  breast  which  he  had  been  striving  to  believe  the 
home  of  its  best  virtues. 

Mabel  made  no  reply.  The  burst  of  passion  had  spent 
itself,  and  the  solemnity  of  his  look  a»d  manner,  as  he  uttered 
those  last  words, — the  sudden  invocation  which  arraigned  her 
before  that  awful  tribunal,  where  the  purest  must  stand 
abashed, — penetrated  the  whirl  and  the  cloud  of  evil  feelings 
which  surrounied  her  soul,  and.  like  a  ray  of  divine  light, 
showed  her  its  blackness.  She  leaned  her  face  upon  her 
arm,  as  it  rested  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  stood  silent  and 
trembling. 


466  IDA     MAY. 

Thus  some  moments  passed.  Then  the  sound  of  carriage 
wheels  was  heard,  and  Mrs.  "Wynn,  arriving  at  home,  sprang 
lightly  up  the  piazza  steps,  as  through  the  window  she  caught 
sight  of  Walter .  and  entered  the  parlor. 

She  looked  pale  and  harassed,  but  her  face  lighted  with  joy 
as  she  clasped  her  nephew's  hand,  who  hastily  strove  to  hide 
his  agitation,  as  he  met  her. 

"  0,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !  "  she  said.  "  Did  you  leavp 
Ida  well?" 

"  Very  well ;  only  somewhat  shaken  by  what  she  had 
undergone." 

"  You  look  worn  out  yourself,"  replied  Mrs.  Wynn,  anx- 
iously. "  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Not  ill  in  body,"  said  Walter,  trying  to  smile,  as  he  saw 
her  fears. 

"  But  annoyed  and  distressed,  as  we  all  have  been !  Poor 
little  Ida  !  what  a  trying  life  she  has  had !  I  never  loved  her 
so  well  as  since  she  came  back  this  time ;  and  sometimes  I  fear 
that,  in  former  years,  I  made  more  difference  than  I  should 
between  her  and  Mabel.  But  where  is  Mabel  ?  I  thought 
she  was  here  when  I  cane  in." 

They  looked  around,  but  Mabel  ha<i  vanished. 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  that,  my  dear  aunt,"  fiaid 
Walter,  more  cheerfully.  "Ida  has  a  grateful  heart,  and 
she  loves  you.  She  often  spoke  of  you  to  me  with  th«. 
strongest  expressions  of  interest  and  thanks." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Wynn,  and  then,  casting  a 
quick  glance  around,  and  drawing  nearer  to  Walter,  she  said. 


IDA     MAY.  467 

4  Sometimes,  of  late,  I  have  thought  that,  through  you,  she 
might  be  more  nearly  connected  with  me." 

"  Don't  speak  of  that,  pray  don't,"  said  he,  starting  as  if 
from  a  sword-thrust,  and  averting  his  face. 

"  I  will  not  speak  of  it,  dear,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice ; 
'*  but  I  have  wished  to  tell  you  something  about  Mabel.  I 
should  have  spoken  about  it  weeks  ago,  but  I  was  forbidden 
to  do  so  by  Mr.  "VVynn.  What  his  reasons  were  I  know  not, 
but,  at  any  rate,  I  shall  disregard  them  now,  for  it  is  not  right 
to  keep  you  longer  in  ignorance." 

"  What  can  you  mean  to  say  ?  "  exclaimed  Walter,  looking 
at  her  anxiously. 

"  Mabel  is  to  be  married  in  about  a  month  to  Col. 
Ross." 

"  And  she  dared  accuse  me  of  unfaithfulness  !  "  he  cried. 

Mrs.  Wynn  looked  sad,  and  her  voice  faltered.  "  It  has 
been  a  great  pain  to  me,"  she  said,  "  that  things  have  come 
to  be  as  they  are.  You  have  always  been  dear  to  me  as  a 
son,  and  I  hoped  once  that  you  might  be  really  such.  Now  I 
see  that  perhaps  you  could  not  have  been  happy  with  Ma5el 
It  is  humiliating  to  a  mother  to  Speak  of  the  faults  of  her 
own  child,  but  I  must  say  I  have  been  grieved  that  she  ha& 
been  willing  to  deceive  you,  and  keep  you  in  ignorance  of  her 
change  of  feeling  towards  you.  Perhaps  you  will  forgive  her 
for  my  sake." 

"  My  dear  aunt,"  said  Walter,  taking  her  hand  kindly, 
"  Mabel  has  not  been  wholly  to  blame  in  that  regard ;  and, 
though  I  would  never  have  acknowledged  it  to  any  human 
40 


468  IDA     MAY. 

being  but  for  what  I  have  heard  this  morning,  it  is  but.  right 
that  I  should  tell  you  that  I  also  have  changed." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Now  we  shall  all  bo 
happy  and  at  peace  again,  as  we  used  to  be,  and  Ida  shall  be 
to  me  as  a  daughter.  The  hope  that  it  might  end  thus,  has 
been  my  only  comfort  through  these  stormy  times  we  have 
had  of  late,"  said  the  gentle  little  lady,  with  a  smile  and  a 
sigh. 

"  Did  Mabel  tell  you  of  her  engagement  this  morning  ? "  sh 
added,  after  a  short  pause. 

"  No,"  replied  he,  with  a  sudden  change  of  countenance , 
"  but  she  told  me  something  else,  which  equally  abrogated 
my  obligations  to  her." 

Mrs.  Wynn  looked  up  inquiringly,  but  just  then  they  saw 
Col.  Ross  coming  up  the  avenue. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  meet  him  this  morning,"  he  said,  hur- 
riedly ;  and,  as  I  wish  to  return  to  Oaklands  to-day  — " 

"  So  soon !  "  exclaimed  his  aunt. 

"  I  must  go.  Do  not  urge  me  to  remain.  I  may  not  seo 
you  again  for  some  weeks,  but  Mabel  must  tell  you  why." 

He  shook  hands  with  her  cordially,  his  handsome  face 
lighting  again  with  the  affection  and  respect  he  felt  for  ono 
who  had  been  to  him  almost  like  a  mother.  % 

"  My  dear,  dear  boy,"  she  said,  "  may  you  be  happy  !  " 

"  We  will  try  to  think  '  all 's  well,  that  ends  well,' "  he  said, 
with  forced  gayety,  kissing  her  hand,  but  when  he  turned 
away,  his  eyes  were  dim  with  not  unmanly  tears.  Her  tender 
and  unselfish  love  had  touched  his  heart. 


CHAPTER    XV-il. 

"  Hark,  the  loud-voiced  bells, 

Stream  on  the  world  around, 
With  the  full  wind,  as  it  swells 

Seas  of  sound. 
Tt  is  a  voice  that  calls  to  onward  years  — 

'  Turn  back,  and  when  delight  has  fled  away, 
Look  through  the  evening  mists  of  mortal  tears 

On  this  immortal  day. '"  FREDERIC  TENNYSOH 

IT  was  one  of  the  most  balmy  and  delicious  days  of  early 
summer,  when  Walter  Varian  found  himself  opening  the  iron 
gate,  and  ascending  the  stone  steps  of  Mr.  Morton's  house  in 
Harrisburg. 

He  had  followed  the  Mays  to  Augusta,  but  they  had 
already  left  that  place  for  Savannah,  and,  knowing  there  was 
little  probability  of  overtaking  them  before  they  sailed  for 
New  York,  he  had  preferred  returning  home,  and  taking  one 
of  the  Charleston  boats  for  Baltimore.  Thus,  the  very  day 
after  Ida's  arrival  at  the  house  of  her  friend  Bessie,  one  from 
whom  she  imagined  herself  severed  for  years,  stood  waiting  to 
be  received  there. 

Tho   servant  who   answered   his    ring    at   the   door-bell, 


47  0  IBAMAY. 

askered  him  into  a  tastefully-furnished  parlor,  at  the  fuithei 
end  of  which  a  lady  sat  sewing  by  a  bay  window  that  opened 
into  a  large  garden.  The  moment  Walter  saw  her,  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  recognizing  her,  from  Ida's  oft-repeated  descrip- 
tion ;  and  as  she  rose,  in  some  embarrassment,  to  greet  one 
whom  she  thought  an  entire  stranger,  he  offered  his  hand,  and 
said  pleasantly,  „ 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Morton,  I  am  sure  ;  but  I  presume  I  shall 
have  to  introduce  Walter  Varian." 

At  this  name,  Mrs.  Morton's  confusion  vanished,  and  was 
replaced  by  a  cordial  greeting  and  a  smile  of  hearty  welcome, 
that  made  them  friends  at  once. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said.  "  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  known  y«u  for  years.  Allow  me  to  introduce  to  you  my 
only  son.  He  has  the  honor  to  bear  your  name,"  she  added, 
smiling,  and  pointed  with  a  mother's  pride  to  an  infant  a  few 
months  old,  who  lay  in  state  on  the  sofa  beside  her,  supported 
by  cushions.  With  the  puzzled  and  undecided  expression  young 
gentlemen  usually  assume  in  such  trying  circumstances,  Wal- 
ter looked  down  on  the  small  specimen  of  humanity,  who, 
with  his  eyes  'Opened  to  their  widest,  and  his  mouth  puck- 
ered to  its  smallest  capacity,  was,  at  that  moment,  appar- 
ently deeply  absorbed  in  a  philosophical  examination  of  the 
mystery  of  his  own  little  chubby  hands. 

"  He  is  a  very  wise-looking  little  fellow  just  now,  cer- 
tainly," said  he,  uncertain  exactly  in  what  terms  he  was 
expected  to  express  his  admiration.  "  I  was  not  aware  that 
I  had  the  honor  of  possessing  a  namesake  here." 


IDA     MAY.  471 

"  Ida  named  him,"  said  Mrs.  Morton  ;  and  smiling,  as  she 
saw  Walter's  face  flush  and  his  eyes  sparkle  at  this*  informa- 
tion, she  added,  "  Ida  has  gone  into  the  garden  with  the  chil- 
dren. Will  you  stay  here  while  I  go  to  find  her,  or  will  you 
seek  her  there  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  will  look  for  her,  if  you  please,"  replied  he,  eagerly. 

"  You  will  probably  find  her  in  the  summer-house  at  the 
foot  of  the  garden,"  she  said,  as  she  opened  the  window  to 
give  him  egress.  "  You  can  follow  this  broad  path  till  you 
come  to  the  pond,  and  then,  at  your  right  hand,  you  will  see 
them  if  they  are  there." 

Thanking  her,  he  hastened  down  the  path,  which  was 
shaded  by  fruit-trees,  and  trimly  bordered  by  a  low  hedge  of 
box-wood,  until  he  came  to  a  high  open  fence  *)f  woven  wire, 
that  surrounded  a  circular  artificial  pond,  in  the  centre  of 
which  a  small  fountain  was  playing,  and  around  the  borders 
of  which  grew  different  species  of  aquatic  plants,  some  of 
which  were  now  in  blossom.  He  took  little  heed  of  these 
things,  however,  at  this  moment,  for,  as  his  eyes  turned  in  the 
direction  Mrs.  Morton  had  indicated,  his  hurried  steps 
were  arrested  by  his  admiration  of  the  scene  that  met  his 
view. 

The  summer-house,  which  was  simply  a  circular  lattice 
work,  covered  with  running  roses,  now  in  the  full  glory  of 
their  season,  stood  on  a  grass  plat  at  one  side  of  the  pond. 
Three  openings  had  been  left  for  doors,  and  near  one  of  thesa 
a  beautiful  little  girl  was  playing  with  the  mulatto  boy, 
Elsie's  child,  whose  black,  wavy  hair  and  clear  dark  skin,  con- 
40*= 


472  IDA     MAY 

trasted  finely  with  the  golden  curls  and  delicate  cc/mplexion 
of  his  playmate. 

Within  the  soft  green  shadow  of  the  arbor,  Ida  sat  on  a 
rustic  bench,  and  a  girl,  of  some  five  years  old,  stood  behind 
her,  busily  employed  in  ornamenting  her  hair  with  the  half 
open  buds  which  she  pulled  from  the  rose-vines  beside  her. 
The  child  had  removed  Ida's  comb,  and  the  silken  tresses, 
crowned  with  flowers,  fell  waving  and  rippling  around  her 
slight  form,  and,  mingling  with  the  ringlets  which  always 
shaded  her  fair  brow,  half  hid  her  face,  as  she  sat  leaning  it 
upon  her  hand,  w/th  her  eyes  resting  on  the  floor,  and  a  sad, 
weary  expression  upon  her  features,  that  was  poorly  in  I»eep- 
ing  with  the  quiet  beauty  and  cheerfulness  of  her  surround 
ings.  A  sudden  exclamation  from  the  little  hair-dresser 
caused  her  to  look  up,  and  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  trembling 
all  over,  as  she  saw  who  it  was  that  now  stood  in  the  door- 
way, and  held  out  his  hands  towards  her. 

"  Walter  here !  "  she  cried,  in  Amazement. 

"Yes,  Walter  here,"  he  answered,  taking  both  her 
hands,  and  gazing  into  her  eyes,  with  a  glad  eagerness 
that  brought  a  bright  color  to  the  cheek  that  was  before 
so  pale.  "Walter  here,  to  tell  you  that  he  is  free  — 
honorably  free — from  all  that  could  ever  keep  him  from 
your  side." 

Then  followed  a  few  rapid  words.  Walter  never  knew 
exactly  what  he  said,  or  how  he  said  it,  but  he  always 
retained  a  delightful  consciousness  of  the  moment  when  Ida's 
head  sank  on  his  shoulder,  and  from  beneath  that  veil  of  hair 


IDA     MAT.  47i) 

laintly-brcathed  syllables  assured  him  cf  all  he  wished 
to  know. 

Meantime  the  children  had  fled  coyly  from  the  unknown 
intruder,  and  now  stood  at  the  angle  of  the  path,  peeping 
slyly  from  behind  the  box-wood  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  what 
was  going  on  in  the  arbor.  Their  mother's  voice  soon  called 
them  away. 

"  0,  mother  !  he  kissed  her,  he  did  !  That  great  big  man, 
with  hair  all  over  his  mouth,  kissed  Aunt  Ida  !  "  shouted  the 
youngest,  as  she  came  near. 

"  Yes,  and  she  let  him  !  "  chimed  in  the  elder  girl. 

Mrs.  Morton  laughed  heartily  at  the  virtuous  indignation 
expressed  on  the  two  young  faces,  and  said,  gayly, 

"  Why  should  n't  he  kiss  her,  if  he  wanted  to  ?  He  is 
the  best  friend  she  has  in  the  world." 

"  Is  he  ?  "  said  the  eldest,  thoughtfully,  in  a  mollified  tone ; 
but  the  youngest  exclaimed, 

"  O,  ma  !  how  can  he  b^the  best  ?    He  is  n't  herfat/iei  .  " 

"  You  will  know  some  time,  little  one,"  replied  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton, laughing  again ;  and,  taking  little  Alfred  in  her  arms 
she  went  with  them  into  the  house. 

Unconscious  of  this  juvenile  criticism  upon  their  conduct, 
forgetting  even  to  notice  that  the  children  were  gone,  the 
lovers,  sitting  close  together  in  the  green,  rose-scented  arbor, 
breaking  the  charmed  silence  only  by  those  low  tones  that 
are  eloquent  of  the  heart's  purest  happines?,  were  enjoying 
such  moments  as  come  but  once  to  any  mortal.  Golden 
momonts !  which  in  fleeting  leave  a  memory  lingering  and 


474  IDA     MAY. 

precious,  like  those  rare  perfumes  contained,  in  crystal  tubes, 
that  must  be  shattered  past  remedy  before  tte  hidden  essence 
can  he  exhaled. 

"  I  cannot  ask  you  to  unite  your  fate  with  mine,  now,  at 
once,"  said  Walter,  at  length  ;  "  for  when  I  have  done  that 
which  we  both  think  I  ought  to  do  for  my  people  at  Oak- 
lands,  I  sha!l  be  nearly  penniless,  and  I  cannot  ask  your 
father  for  his  child,  when  I  have  no  home  to  offer  her.  By 
the  way,"  he  added,  suddenly,  "  where  is  your  father  ?  " 

"  He  went  directly  on  from  New  York  to  Ohio,  where  his 
agent  has  been  buying  some  land  on  which  our  colony  are  to 
be  located.  Fortunately  he  had  just  concluded  the  purchase 
when  father  telegraphed  to  him;  so  we  were  driven  away 
from  the  Triangle  just  in  the  right  moment,  you  see." 

"  No  thanks  to  that  hateful  mob,  though  !  "  said  Walter, 
looking  grave  for  a  moment.  "  But  I  hope  the  purchase  is 
sufficiently  extensive  to  admit  some  of  my  negroes,  for  I 
ehall  want  to  dispose  of  a  few  in  that  way.  The  majority 
can  take  care  of  themselves,  in  various  ways,  and  may  as  well 
begin  at  once  to  do  so.  They  are  bright  enough,  and  will 
soon  learn  how  to  adapt  themselves  to  new  situations.  There 
is  nothing  like  the  idea  and  the  hope  of  freedom  to  awaken 
and  expand  a  man's  intellect.  I  shall  furnish  each  with  a 
little  capital,  and  aid  them  in  finding  employment,  and  then 
I  shall  settle  myself  in  some  city  in  fae  free  States.  I  can 
no  longer  live  where  a  man  is  :ocbbed  for  expressing  his 
honest  opinions." 

"  You  have  not  yet  forgiveij^^Bntffeu:;  rallying  of 


IDA     MAT.  475 

the  people  to  protect  the  beloved  '  institution '  from  the 
touch  of  our  rash  hands,"  said  Ida,  looking  up  gayly. 

"  And  never  shall  forgive  it !  "  he  replied ;  and  she  silently 
wondered  at  the  gloomy  and  thoughtful  expression  that 
gathered  over  his  face  as  he  spoke.  She  did  not  yet  know 
what  it  was  that  made  that  recollection  so  peculiarly  exciting 
and  unpleasant.  But  he  shook  off  his  sad  thoughts  in  a 
moment,  and,  responding  to  her  happy  mood,  said  cheerfully, 

"  Where  should  you  like  best  to  live  ?  I  will  take  an 
office  anywhere  you  bid  me.  '  The  world  is  all  before  us, 
where  to  choose,'  and  I  will  compel  dame  Fortune  to  favor  rao 
with  smiles." 

"  Presumptuous  youth  !  do  not  be  too  sanguine,"  said  Ida, 
"  for  that  lady's  smiles  are  proverbially  hard  to  be  won." 

"  After  the  winning  of  to-day,"  replied  he,  "  I  may  be 
pardoned  for  any  amount  of  self-confidence ;  and,  beside,  1 
have  the  secret  that  unlocks  her  treasures.  She  is  not  repre- 
sented as  a  very  industrious  lady  herself,  but  she  likes  to  see 
folks  work,  and  I  will  work,  —  0,  Ida  !  how  I  will  work,  — 
to  win  a  home  for  you,  and  honor  and  fame  for  your  husband  ! 
You  shall  be  proud  of  me  yet,  dearest." 

"  I  am  proud  of  you  now,"  said  she  with  charming  naivete, 
as  she  looked  up  into  his  face,  glowing  with  happiness  and 
hope.  "  You  seem,"  she  added  a  moment  after,  "  to  have 
fall  faith  in  that  maxim  which  used  to  seem  so'  mighty  long 
to  me,  when  our  governess  at  "VVynn  Hall  made  me  write  in 
my  copy-book,  —  do  you  remember  *  —  '  Nothing  is  denied 
to  patient  and  well-directed  effort.'  " 


476  IDA     MAY 

"  I  remember,"  said  "Walter;  "and  I  remember  also  how 
she  scolded  you  one  day  because  you  upset  the  ink  over  that 
same  copy-book." 

"  And  how  you  took  my  part,  and  insisted  it  was  not  care- 
lessness," added  Ida,  laughing.  "  Ah,  Walter,  you  have 
been  my  champion  many  times  in  the  battle  of  life  !  " 

The  arm  taat  was  around  her  waisfc  clasped  her  with  a 
yet  closer  pressure,  and  Walter  replied, 

"  You  needed  a  champion  badly  enough  when  I  first  knew 
you.  What  a  little  creature  you  were  then,  Ida !  Do  you 
know,  when  you  were  sitting  here  this  afternoon,  the  moment 
before  you  saw  me,  with  your  hair  falling  around  your  shoul- 
ders, and  crowned  with  rose-buds,  you  reminded  me,  more 
than  ever,  of  the  little  girl  I  saw  hiding  among  the  kalmiaa 
on  that  mountain  side  ? " 

"  I  should  think  so !  "  said  Ida.  "  Little  Bessie  is  never  so 
happy  as  when  she  can  disorder  my  hair  as  much  as  possible. 
You  should  have  announced  your  coming,  so  that  I  might 
have  arranged  my  dishevelled  locks  in  more  becoming  array." 

"There  could  be  nothing  more  becoming,  —  don't  touch 
them,"  he  added,  arresting  her  hand  as  she  was  gathering 
her  hair  into  a  knot.  "  You  have  such  soft,  beautiful  hair, 
that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  it ;  and.  even  if  it  were  not,  I 
should  like  anything  that  brought  back  so  vividly  those 
first  moments  I  spent  with  you.  How  often,  since  then,  have 
I  wished  I  had  preserved  those  flowers  you  gave  me,  that  I 
might  have  a  tangible  memorial  of  'little  Lizzy,'  and  that 
hour  I  spent  beside  the  mountain  stream  !  " 


IDA     MAY.  477 

"  I  am  mere  fortunate  than  you  —  I  have  such  a  memento," 
said  Ida ;  and,  unclasping  a  small  locket  which  she  always 
wore  attached  to  her  watch-chain,  she  showed  him,  carefully 
set  within  it,  a  small  gold  coin,  pierced  with  a  hole  in  the 
centre.  "  Do  you  remember  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

Years  had  passed  since  he  thought  of  it,  but  he  recognized 
it  instantly. 

"  Ila-ve  you  kept  it  so  long  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  would  ever  have  parted  with  it?" 
cried  Ida,  earnestly.  "  The  hour  when  you  gave  me  this 
marked  an  era  in  my  changeful  life.  You  came  to  me,  that 
bright  afternoon,  like  some  puissant  prince  of  fairy  legends, 
*breaking  the  spell  that  bound  me,  and  giving  me  a  revelation 
of  the  happy  life  which  I  had  lost  and  forgotten.  I  could 
'  not  tell  you  all  the  springs  of  thought  that  began  to  move 
confusedly  through  the  darkness  of  my  brain,  as  I  watched 
you  ride  away  so  free  and  bold,  so  full  of  youth  and  energy. 
I  was  never  afterwards  the  same  quiet,  dreamy  child  I  was 
before." 

"  How  little  either  of  us  imagined,  then,  of  all  that  was 
to  follow  from  that  meeting ! "  said  Walter,  thoughtfully. 
"  What  a  difference  between  then  and  now  !  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ida,  "  when  I  look  ba<4|fover  the  past, 
F  can  almost  feel  the  clasping  of  the  Divine  hand  that  has 
been  leading  me  turough  paths  which  I  knew  not,  and  has  at 
last  brought  me  to  a  place  of  rest,  so  b'ersed  that  I  hardly 
know  how  to  believe  my  own  happiness.  My  Mfo  hs«  been 
strangely  eventful,  but  now  —  " 


478  ID\     MAT. 

"  Now,"  interrupted  Walter,  pressing  his  lips  on  the  eye- 
lids that  drooped  over  her  tearful  eyes,  "  Now  your  trials 
are  all  over ;  for,  if  there  is  power  in  human  will  and  human 
love,  your  whole  future  life  shall  be  free  from  care  or 
sorrow." 


FINIS. 


3  115801145  0078 


A     000123247     9 


